Something Stupider
by Grommetik
Summary: It's Ron and Hermione's sixth year and their budding relationship isn't so much budding as being forced back into the ground by inhibition....(WARNING: Naughty words afoot)
1. For Your Convenience

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AWOOGA! AWOOGA! SHITE STORY ALERT!

If you're wondering where "Something Stupider" went, then read on. Because I know you're all dying to. Admit it. Don't hold out on me know…

"WHAT HAPPENED TO THE STORY" (Abridged version)

PIXIEPOOP: Tra la la, I think I'll write a fan fiction. (Typing for several weeks ensues.) Wow, it's really shite. Hey, what's that whirring noise?

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J.K. ROWLING: It's me, spinning in my grave.

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PIXIEPOOP: JK Rowling died?!

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J.K. ROWLING: Well I was fine until one day I happened to come across your crappy fanficton "Something Stupider" on the internet and I was immediately struck dead by your use of my characters. I'm actually ashamed to be affiliated with them now. Thanks a lot.

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PIXIEPOOP: Jeez, sorry. I didn't realise it was so shite. I mean I always knew it was shite, but the carrying capacity of the story must have reached shite-overload.

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J.K. ROWLING: It certainly did. And now I'm dead.

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STEVEN KLOVES: Hello, I'm Steven Kloves. For those of you who didn't know, I write the screenplays for the Harry Potter movies. Now that J.K. Rowling's reign of terror is finally over, I can write the screenplays without her input. The characters will bend to my every whim, and I will portray Ron as even more of a bozo and Hermione in even shorter skirts! Ahahahaha ahaha, ahahahahahaha!

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PIXIEPOOP: Oh _god_, what have I done?! Thanks to my flimsy plotline and out of character representations of Harry, Ron, Hermione, Draco- and all the rest- I have killed my hero J.K. Rowling and sacrificed the books to Steven Kloves! And now we'll never know how the series ends!

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REST OF THE WORLD: Yes, well, we know who to blame for this, don't we?

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PIXIEPOOP: There is only one way to right the heinous crime. I must take down "Something Stupider" and rewrite it as I have never re-written anything before! I will make the storyline plausible rather than crap! I will write the characters realistically rather than crappily! And most of all, I will no longer violate J.K. Rowling's precious mind by taking her goodness and using it for evil. With great power comes great responsibility.

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SPIDERMAN: Excuse me, I believe you know owe me and all my lawyers a million dollars each. 

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PIXIEPOOP: Shit.

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AND SO BEGINS THE GREAT RACE TO SAVE J.K. ROWLING's LIFE AND TO SPARE THE WORLD FROM EMMA WATSON'S UNDERWEAR! WILL SHE SUCCEED? WILL SHE FINALLY DEFEAT THE EVIL MASTERMIND STEVEN KLOVES? WILL HE CONTINUETO WRITE REALLY BAD BOOK ADAPTATIONS? (Well, we all know the answer to that one, they've already started filming Prisoner of Azkaban.) TUNE IN AT REGULAR INTERVALS TO FINE OUT. 

I'll get chapter one back up ASAP, until then you'll just have to wait. It won't be a complete make over just the fan fiction equivalent of a botox face-lift. Dum dum dummmm….


	2. One

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SOMETHING STUPIDER

CHAPTER ONE

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"I hope you don't mind that I put down in words…how wonderful life is now you're in the world."

"Your Song", ELTON JOHN

AN: Right. Back in business. The first two chapters, I've always liked, that's why there's not much changed in them. It's not until the third chapter that the story starts to go a bit awry, I think, but basically the premise that I'm going to go for is this. Ron is hopelessly in love but incredibly shy about it. Hermione is not hopelessly in love and shy about it- thus she tries to over compensate by being way too physical for Ron's liking. And that's where things go wrong. Now, I promise I haven't just given away the story because by god there are twists on the horizon. Now, keep reading and I promise you it'll get better. 

"…Well of course you got twelve OWLs," Ron said, struggling to extricate his leg from the confusing telephone cord. "There's no way you couldn't have, with the amount you studied. I don't think I saw you sleeping for about two weeks…"

Hermione's voice sounded breathless in his ear. It was a bizarre feeling to be able to hear her but not see her. "But it was still such a lovely _surprise_, I mean, I was so sure I'd botched the Herbology exam."

"I know you were," Ron replied, remembering her hysterical fit of tears after they left the greenhouse upon finishing their Herbology OWL, "but it was all in your head, just like I told you. Look," he said, frustatedly, getting more and more entangled in the long curly wire, "look, I'm having phone-thingy-cord problems."

"Can't you hear me properly?"

"No, the sodding thing seems to be trying to eat my leg. This fellytone thing-"

"Telephone."

"Yes exactly- is it at all related to Devil's Snare?"

"It's not a _plant_, Ron," Hermione laughed gently. "It's made of a Muggle invention called plastic."

"See? No wonder you passed your Herbology exam," Ron grunted, now on his back on the floor of his room, flailing his legs in the air in a desperate attempt to get rid of the cord. It didn't work. "Hopeless," he muttered, resigning himself to spending the rest of his days trapped in his room attached to a telephone. "I have to say, even for Muggles, this is a bizarre invention."

"Most Muggles find it vastly useful," Hermione said. The tone of her voice sounded so amused that Ron could picture her- smirking, her eyes twinkling, twisting a brown curl around her finger. Mr. Weasley had- with great difficulty- set up the phone in Ron's room earlier in the summer, as Ron had more friends who lived with Muggles than any other member of the Weasley family. Ron had avoided using it as much as possible- Owl post may have been slower but at least it didn't involve any eckelticity or cannibalistic phone cords. However, their exam results had arrived today and Hermione obviously couldn't wait for owl post. She'd been crawling up the walls waiting for their news of their OWLs. Ron had gotten the fright of his life when the telephone actually _rang_. Assuming it was broken, he'd run to get Ginny, who'd used the phone at great length during the holidays to call her friends, and she'd shown him what to do. "Anyway," Hermione said, "did you get your letter today as well?"

"Yes," said Ron slowly.

"And?"

Ron exhaled quickly. "Eleven."

"Eleven?" she repeated.

Ron nodded, then realised she couldn't see him. "I mean, yeah. I missed one for Transfigs by about two percent-"

But he suddenly had to hold the phone away from his ear as Hermione burst into exclamations of delight. "Ron, that's fantastic. Oh my gosh oh my gosh, I'm so happy for you! Oh that's so wonderful, I knew you'd do well!"

Ron felt better- much better. He'd been dreading what she would say when she found out he'd missed out on having twelve OWLs by two percent. He was kicking himself for not staying up an extra hour with her before the Transfigs exam, actually. But her delight was sincere and quite flattering, and Ron was suddenly consumed with desire to see her in person. It was wonderful to hear her voice, at least…

Hermione was still talking. "…you know, you've worked so hard for this. Imagine! Back in November you were failing! And now- eleven OWLs. Ron, that's so _good_. This is phenomenal, you've come from nearly having to repeat fifth year to nearly top of the class!"

Ron laughed. "You know very well that the position of Top Boff is permanently filled by you, Miss Three Hundred and fifty Percent in Everything."

"No, that's not true, I only got three hundred and forty seven in Charms," said Hermione ruefully. "If only I'd just-"

"Hermione," said Ron firmly, "I don't think this is quite the time for regrets."

"No, she said softly, "no, you're right." She paused. "I don't have any regrets from last year."

"Me neither." Ron said. There was another static pause. "I wish I could see you right now," he said finally.

"Oh Ron- I've missed you so much these holidays too," Hermione breathed. 

"You can still come next week, can't you?"

"Yes, of course!"

"I was just checking. In case maybe your mum and dad had changed their minds, or…or maybe you had, or…."

"No, no, no!…Why on earth would I change my mind?"

"I don't know." Ron said, shrugging even though she couldn't see him. "Just in case you've decided you want nothing to do with me," he joked, casually giving voice to the thought that had kept him awake for the past few weeks. 

"Oh, Ron…" said Hermione, and even over the phone he could hear the fondness infused into her voice. Ron gave a nervous giggle, feeling much, much, much better. "When's Harry coming?"

"Day after you are," said Ron sheepishly.

"I tried phoning him but his uncle keeps answering, so I just hang up."

"Yeah, me too. I got his cousin once, though," he said, adding, "so I popped a balloon into the receiver. He screamed like a ten year old schoolgirl." Hermione gave a reluctant laugh. Ron had only met Dudley once, but his loathing of the fat Muggle almost matched Harry's, while Hermione preferred to remain sympathetic towards Harry but indifferent to the Dursley's only son. She disliked judging people until she'd actually seen them face to face. (One of many reasons why Ron liked her so much.)

They talked for a little while longer until Hermione explained that the telephone costed money and a call from Oxford to Dovershire (the county in which Ottery St Catchpole was situated) was likely to run up a large bill. They said a reluctant goodbye and Ron promised to owl her that evening. It took him a while to figure out how to "hang up" the phone, as Hermione called it, but eventually he deduced that the banana shaped "receiver" fit into the little thingy with the buttons on it by means of a little cradle on top of it. "Hah," he said, feeling much better for his conversation with her. He hadn't showed anyone else his results yet and was glad he had decided to show Hermione first; in any case, hers was the only opinion that mattered to him. 

He sat down at his desk (dragging the entire telephone with him, for the cord was still firmly wrapped around his leg) to write a quick letter to Harry but found he could not concentrate. It was less than a week before he would see Hermione again, and he was not bearing the wait very well. Completely understandable for someone as smitten as he was- and he _was_ smitten. Through a series of misfortunes in their fifth year at Hogwarts, Ron and Hermione had come to terms with the deep affection they had for each other and found that they both saw each other as boyfriend and girlfriend than just friends. Ron owed a lot to Hermione- he had lost focus early on in the year and was warned that he would have to repeat if he did not pick up his feet. Hermione did what any good friend would and began to tutor him. 

Together Ron and Hermione worked long hours into the night and Ron's grades eventually improved. By that time, of course, they had fallen for each other, and though it took them a while to admit it to each other, it all came out in the end. 

It was now seven months since Ron and Hermione had first gotten together, and for Ron's part he couldn't be happier. They hugged, they kissed, they held hands. They had shared one Valentine's day, danced together at a wedding, and Ron's last birthday in March had been his best ever. 

He had snogged her publicly three times, slept in the same bed with her twice, and even (once) met her parents properly. Both were still quite shy of each other, physically at least, but Ron found that over the months their initial awkwardness had dissolved into a sort of bashful comfortableness with each other. Ron was attracted to all of her, anyway, not just her looks- though, if he were being honest with himself, he had privately decided she was the most beautiful girl in the world when he'd first seen her at the Yule Ball. That event seemed so long ago, now, but Ron was glad for it. As far as wake-up calls went, it was an especially extravagant one. He felt very ashamed every time he thought of his behaviour that night. During fifth year he had behaved pretty badly as well. (He made a mental note to amend that "I have no regrets" "Me neither" comment to Hermione later; he did have regrets, specifically the fact that he had treated her with far less admiration, respect, love, everything that she deserved.) 

What was important now, was that they were together. He loved her, and he was fairly sure she loved him as well. That was what was important now. She was everything to him. 

That was normal, wasn't it?

Finally managing to get rid of the phone cord (via a severing charm- the phone wouldn't work but he could surely just mend it again later) Ron sat down and put quill to parchment.

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Harry, results came- eleven OWLS…

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"…Just eleven OWLs, Draco?"

Lucius Malfoy's questions were always dangerous because they weren't really questions. He could see quite plainly that all he had was eleven OWLs. It was there in front of him, on the parchment. It would have been pointless for Draco to say anything.

His father went on, exuding power even though he was sitting while Draco was standing. It was the office that did it. He'd always been scared of his father's office, with its furnishings of black on black, with bottle green walls and a dark crimson rug. His mother sat in the high green armchair next to the fire, saying nothing as usual.

"Tolerable marks at best," his father was saying. "Two fifty eight for Potions, two seventy-five for Herbology, two eighty-two for Charms…" he trailed off, letting the _s_ at the end of "Charms" be absorbed into the black bookshelves. His fine eyebrows arched. "Three hundred and twelve for Transfiguration…" He had a tone of surprise in his voice, but it wasn't a pleasant tone at all. The sort of surprise you feel when you see something on the road and assume it's an old piece of newspaper until you get closer and find out it's a dead bird. His father left a meaningful pause before continuing. "Two ninety-nine for Care of Magical Creatures, two hundred and fifty for History of Magic- very poor, Draco…oh wait- three hundred and fifty for Arithmancy- and only two hundred and thirty for Defense Against the Dark Arts…" He looked up. "Your missing OWL."

"It's only Defense Against the Dark Arts, Father. The lessons really are quite the joke with that Figg woman in charge."

"That _Figg woman_, as you call her, Draco, has powers that could kill you with a mere look," answered his father crisply. Draco's stomach gave a curious squirm, as it always did when his father touched on his Death Eater days. "Maybe I expect too much of you." His father sat back in his chair with an imperious _creak_. The clock ticked. His mother sniffed. 

"It's only Defense Against the Dark Arts…" Draco tried again, but his father had finished with him.

"No. I expect too much of you." His father had picked up his quill and was writing again. "You're dismissed."

Holding his breath, Draco left the office. It wasn't the first time Draco's father had said that. _I expect too much of you_. It wasn't a confession of hardness on his part, and it wasn't a relief for Draco to hear his father admit that he _did_ expect too much of him. It was just another way that Lucius Malfoy told his son that he wasn't good enough. 

"Up in the office again, eh?" drawled his reflection in the large gold edged mirror that hung in the hallway. "What'd you do this time?"

"Not enough," Draco answered, thinking of the hours he'd wasted while "studying". Even the littlest thing could distract him for hours on end- a chipped nail, to be picked at over Potions notes; graffiti on the desk, to be re-worked into by his own quill during Astronomy homework; a mole on the back of someone's neck to be stared at during a boring History of Magic lesson. 

The problem was, Draco thought, as he looked at his reflection, pale and expressionless, was that nothing _interested_ him. He disliked most of his subjects at school, despised most of his teachers, was bored by Quidditch, the society he frequented was less than engaging, and the few friends he had were about as reliable as a used Comet 260. Even Potter and his friends were proving less than a challenge lately. While it was safe to say that they probably hated him more than ever due to the events of the past to years (and their presumption of Draco's involvement in certain events) it was the sort of smug, self-important dislike that prompted them all to respond to any comments Draco made with a raised eyebrows or a pious smirk. As if he, Draco, were beneath _them_. The once equal, mutual dislike between Potter, Weasley and himself had dissolved- now Potter and Weasley seemed to have taken up Granger's usual tack in dealing with him: ignoring him. Potter himself was nearly always looking too preoccupied to respond to Draco's taunts, and as for Weasley, he had gone completely soft since he started snogging Granger- goading him was now about as much fun as dangling a piece of wool in front of a goldfish with a short attention span. Granger herself was the only one with any decent fight left in her, and even she seemed to think herself to good to respond. But she always had. That was what had invited Draco to hate her in the first place- her arrogance in even _thinking_ that she, Hermione Granger, a nothing Mudblood from Oxford, was on the same level as himself. 

"Draco Tobias Malfoy the third, son of Lucius," Draco intoned gracelessly into the mirror. Funny. It used to sound better when he was younger. He had thought the title was frankly, scary when he was eight years old. But the time he had started at Hogwarts, he had grown to believe it impressive sounding, and introduced himself to everyone mentioning his father's name. He had stopped doing that by the time he was thirteen, but instead kept the knowledge that he was Draco, son of Lucius tucked smugly away in his mind- he knew he was better than the rest of them, even if they didn't. And then at the end of his fourth year, suddenly everything became more significant. Being Lucuius Malfoy's son suddenly didn't mean only that he came from a rich, pureblooded family and was fairly important in the wizarding social set. Suddenly he was the son of a Death Eater, and therefore, the purveyor of death, fear, black magic, and other evils. Once someone had even spat on him in the street. Draco had been so shocked, he hadn't even had the presence of mind to pick up his wand and hex the offender. 

And that's when Lucius had changed as well. In public, Lucius had always taken care to appear quite fond of his son- making sure everyone knew that Draco got exactly what he wanted, whenever he wanted it, all the time. And in truth, Draco _did_ get everything he wanted. He was spoilt. Behind the blackwood doors of Malfoy Manor, however, things were a different story. Draco was given everything he wanted- that much was true, but he was rewarded with so many things for very little, and his father made sure he knew this. Draco had started feeling guilty from a very young age. Not so much that he asked his father to stop giving him what he wanted, but just enough to make Draco seek his father's approval. 

But Draco was sixteen now- "my big strong dragon," his mother would croon through her haze of marigold wine and god knows whatever else she took- and he was old enough to know that he was fighting a losing battle. Draco could no more win his father's approval than- well, Hermione Granger's, for example.

Things in the Malfoy household had been strained (even more so) when Draco had confronted his father during the summer before he went into his fifth year. Three am, Draco, unable to sleep, had been walking down to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea when he saw the light on in his father's office. Draco had paused by the door.

"Go to bed, Draco," his father had said, sounding weary. Draco had stayed by the door. He didn't even dare to look in.

"You're working for him again, aren't you?" There was no indication that his father had heard him apart from a pause in the _scratch-scratch-scratching _of quill against parchment. "Like you were…when he was powerful before. You're doing it again. Like how it was before- before Potter stopped him." 

"Keep your mind off business that doesn't concern you."

"But it does concern me," Draco had whispered. There had been so many things he'd wanted to yell at him right then _Don't you care that you're putting yourself in the face of death? Don't you realize what you're doing? Don't you know that Dumbldore's going to fight with all his powers against you? You, who have told me so many bloody times how powerful he really is- what about mother, don't you think of her? What about us?_

"Go back to bed, Draco." Lucius was very dangerous to be in a room with when he was angry but Draco was suddenly overcome with a deadly courage. He walked into the office, marched right up to his father's black desk and put his hand down, over the piece of parchment on which his father was writing.

"You're a Death Eater." His father had looked up at him with the astonished face of a man who has never been defied before. "How many Muggles have you killed since Voldemort came back?" Draco had asked. It had been a mistake. With a black, fluid movement, Draco's father had come around the side of the desk and had Draco by the throat. He had been angry in a way that Draco had never seen before- in a complete loss of temper, in a complete loss of self control- Lucius was a cruel man, not a violent man- and there he had been holding his own son by the throat. Draco looked up into his father's eyes, to see if he could see the want of blood in them- but suddenly his father's grip had relaxed.

"I don't want the word said again. Don't even mention his name. It doesn't concern you, Draco." His father had sneered suddenly. "And by the sounds of it, never will. This is what comes of mixing with Muggle-loving fools such as Dumbledore. I blame myself. I expected more of you. I expected you would be stronger, wouldn't be swayed by their ridiculous, naive dogma." His hand had dropped to his side. "Apparently I was wrong."

Then he had slapped Draco across the face. 

Draco fingered his cheek in the mirror as he thought about that night. If his mother had noticed the bruise, she hadn't said anything. Nor, to Draco's knowledge, had she said anything about his father's Death Eater activities, which were becoming increasingly prominent. The physical mark of that night had faded long ago, of course, but Draco had never had anyone say anything to him that he remembered quite so well as his father had that night. _This is what comes of mixing with Muggle loving fools such as Dumbledore. I blame myself. I expected more of you…wouldn't be swayed by their ridiculous naive dogma. Apparently, I was wrong._

"You are wrong," Draco muttered aloud. He was no more suckered in by Dumbledore's rhetoric than his father was. He knew it was complete twoddle. Dumbledore, the Aurors, the Order of the Phoenix, Potter- they were all fools, fighting for a bunch of idiotic ideals.

"Aren't they?"

"Who?" asked his reflection.

"Them."

"Them who?"

"Never mind," Draco mumbled. "You wouldn't understand."

"And why not?"

"Because you're just my reflection," Draco answered snappily. "And if _I_ don't understand, I don't see how _you_ would. All you know is what I know."

"Not quite," said his reflection triumphantly. "Everything backwards here. Sometimes it's good to look at things another way, you know."

"Ridiculous dogma," Draco snapped, turning away. He didn't _care_ about looking at things another way. He didn't care about anything. There was nothing left to do but to finish school, and leave the Manor and- do what? There was nothing to do. He'd follow in his father's footsteps just like everyone expected him to, and when Dumbledore and the rest of those fools had finished with Voldemort and his Death Eaters, there would be nothing left. 

Not that there was anything to lose, as it was. 


	3. Two

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CHAPTER TWO

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"What I'm trying to say- very inarticulately- is that…perhaps…despite appearances…I like you."  
"Apart from the drinking, and the smoking, and the vulgar mother- oh, and the verbal diarrhea-"  
"No, I like you very much. Just as you are."  
**Colin Firth and Renee Zellwegger, BRIDGET JONES'S DIARY**

A four hour train journey and two buses was what it took to get to Ottery St Catchpole. Hermione didn't mind. She spent the journey thinking comfortably of Ron, and their reunion. He had told her in his last owl that he'd be waiting at the bus stop for her for the two thirty pm bus. It had been almost a month since she last saw him. The separation seemed to be a reminder of just how strong her feelings for him were. Maybe she really _was_ in love with him. She hadn't been sure, for a time. They'd been friends for so long, it was still very hard for her even to use the word "boyfriend" when describing Ron. It all seemed a bit…unnatural, sometimes. As though it were forced- and Hermione sometimes wondered if it was, on Ron's part. 

Lately more than one person had brought up the fact that perhaps Ron wasn't everything one could want in a boyfriend, and Hermione happened to agree. He was shy and too prosaic to be romantic; he over-reacted and over-analysed and over-simplified; he was inarticulate and awkward when it came to feelings, and sometimes seemed to rate Quidditch training over spending time with her. And yet she loved him. She would definitely go so far as to say she was falling _in_ love with him, which was a different matter entirely. She knew that Ron had changed- for her, he claimed- and she knew that she had changed as well. They had matured and grown and curbed their rotten tempers…and yet sometimes Hermione felt as though she was eight years again playing Let's Pretend games with her best friend of the time, Rory Smythington. They used to pretend to be husband and wife, feeling ever so grown up as they held hands and talked about Meetings, The Office, and What They Would Have For Dinner. 

Before their first kiss, if Ron so much as breathed near her, Hermione's heart would beat like a drum until she was dizzy. But she never got that feeling any more, and sometimes she had to wonder if all they were doing was playing Let's Pretend. Maybe they were just…just friends who held hands. 

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I'm being silly again, she thought, with a smile. A friend certainly wouldn't kiss her the way Ron had on the last day of term- and in front of the rest of Gryffindor common room too! Ron almost _never_ kissed her when they were in public. Why, she had practically gone weak at the knees…! But then, other times…it was always hard to gauge what he was thinking. He seemed perfectly content to talk about Quidditch for hours on end but became suddenly deaf, dumb and blind whenever she asked him remotely related to emotional matters. Hermione wasn't stupid, of course, and she hadn't expected Ron to suddenly turn into a sort of ginger-haired Romeo from the moment they had admitted their feelings to each other. Ron was opinionated, certainly, but he was never particularly eager to talk about matters of the heart. Herrmione knew this above all people, but sometimes it felt like he was…_uncomfortable_ around her. Things were shy enough between them as it was, and it was disheartening to her that Ron was never particularly sensitive towards this fact. 

But she didn't expect a miracle. He was waiting for her at the bus stop and that was enough for at her at the moment. She couldn't _wait_ to see him. (or maybe she had just convinced herself of that?)

It was three o'clock by the time Hermione reached Ottery St Catchpole and there she found not just Ron, but Ginny, Fred and George as well. It was touching of them, and it warmed her heart to see her four favourite freckled redheads waving madly at her as the creaky old bus pulled up into the cobbled streets of Ottery St Catchpole. She put a full stop at the end of the last sentence she had written on her journal- _and of course, I shouldn't expect miracles_- and collected her things eagerly.

"Hermione!" Ginny cried, rushing to the bus doors to meet her as they swung open.

"Thanks!" Hermione called over her shoulder to the bus driver before she was swept into a hug by Ginny. The girl was at least a foot higher than Hermione even though she was a year younger and hence Hermione was brought off the ground for a few moments before Ginny set her down again. "It's so good to see you!"

"I know, I know!" Ginny cried, nodding enthusiastically. "I heard you got twelve OWLs!"

"Yeah," said Fred, bending down to deliver a kiss to Hermione's cheek. "It's a good thing I like you, Mione, or I'd never speak to you again. My religion doesn't usually permit fraternising with Owlers."

"Yeah," echoed George, kissing Hermione's other cheek, "Mind you, if we hear that you become Head Girl next year, I'm afraid that's the end of our friendship."

"It's bad enough that you're a Prefect," agreed Fred. "The only reason we let you live is because you're practically family." 

As if that were a cue, they made way for Ron, like they had planned the whole thing. He was the same lanky, freckled, bright eyed creature she had hugged goodbye for five whole minutes at the end of June. His hair was perhaps a little more sun streaked, and his nose perhaps a little frecklier. He had grown just one more inch, and he looked as whippy and energetic as he always did, with his beautiful lop-sided grin curving up one side of his face so that the dimple in his cheek deepened, and his hair aflame in the light of the sun. 

"Hi," he said. 

"Hi," she echoed, managing to sound less breathless than she felt. Her hands were free (she had dropped her bags when Ginny accosted her) so she stepped forwards and did what she'd been thinking about for the past four months- she hugged Ron. Because their kisses were still bashful and not extremely frequent, their hugs were always loaded with their pent up affection. For a moment, Ron's embrace was so tight it took Hermione's breath away. Then the twins started up- as she knew they would- with their whistling and their "woo-woo"ing and Ron immediately stiffened. Hermione pulled her hands away from his waist. So much for the reunion.

"Leave it alone," Hermione heard Ginny say as Ron reached behind her to grab her bags. The five of them set off on a brisk walk out of the village, filling her in on holiday news, the most exciting of which being that Fleur Weasley (nee Delacour) was pregnant with her and Bill Weasley's first child. Hermione had been told this three days ago when they first heard the news, but was entertained with a recount of just how exciting it was by Fred, George and Ginny- Ron seemed to be comfortable staying mute. 

"So, any idea of when it's due?"

"Nine months from now, _duh_," said George, slapping her playfully on the backside. She jumped, and both twins snickered. She berated them silently with a deadly glare, which they seemed to find even more amusing.

"Come on Hermione, if you ever want to be our sister-in-law you're expected to give us a _little_ fun," said George.

"Yeah, why can't you be more like Fleur?"

"I'm not blonde, I'm not six feet tall, I'm not part Veela, and I'm not French, but I'll give it a go," Hermione said sarcastically. "Also, I'm not married to one of your brothers."

"Yet," said three voices at once. Hermione turned to glare at Ginny, who blushed.

"Sorry, couldn't help it." she mumbled. Hermione glanced at Ron from the corner of her eye. Was it her imagination, or did he look distinctly pale? _So much for the reunion_, she thought sourly. _We haven't even been each other's company five minutes and it already seems like I'm planning our wedding. This isn't going to help things at all…_

"Ginny," Hermione said quickly, to change the subject, "how did you go in your exams?"

Conversation was pleasant all the way back to the Burrow but all Hermione could think about was how unsatisfying their short embrace was. She'd been thinking of him practically non-stop (well, him and the results of her OWLs) and two seconds of hugging him was not going to compensate for the amount of hours she'd spent devoted to thinking about him, reading and re-reading his letters, and looking at all of her photos of both of them. 

So, when they had gotten back to The Burrow and Ron had led her up to Ginny's room, where she was staying, as usual, she put her arms around him the moment he had set down her bags.

"Good to see you too," he grinned. Hermione decided to have a go at being spontaneous- she brought both hands up to his face, pulled him down to her and kissed him firmly. Ron was obviously shocked- in fact it took him a second or two to respond.

"Hermione- hey- Hermione," he said between her fast, firm kisses. "Hermione- ow!"

She drew away. "What's the matter?"

"You're standing on my foot-"

"Oh- oh, sorry…"

"No, it's okay," Ron said. He looked at her, looked out the window, and gave an awkward laugh. "Just don't- pull me down like that without warning me."

"Sorry," said Hermione. She folded her arms and sat down on the bed. "Sorry." There was a very awkward silence. _Why?_ Hermione was thinking furiously, _why, if you love me so much do you always_-

Ron had walked over and gently shut the door. Then he sat down next to her on the bed. He reached over and unfolded her arms and held both of her hands in his. "I've really, really missed you. Hermione?"

She looked at him. In his eyes there was the look he had worn on the day that they had first kissed in the kitchen of the Burrow. She sighed, letting all her anger dissolve. "Oh, Ron…" 

Then he kissed her the Ron way- gently, gentlemanly, and so sweetly it made Hermione wonder of this was the same boy who had once argued with her at screaming volume from the other side of the common room. She wrapped her arms around his neck as the kiss deepened, pulling him closer, trying to feel how he felt- did he love her still?

"Hermione," Ron said, extricating her arms from around his neck the moment she tried to pull him down onto the bed next to her. "No- look, I…I…I don't think I can do this right now. I'm so glad you're here-" and here he paused to plant a tender kiss on her forehead, "-but I've got to help mum with dinner, and Fred and George need me to stack some boxes in the car before they fly to London, and we'll catch up in a few hours, okay?" he was on his feet before he'd finished talking, walking towards the door. Hermione stayed on the bed, feeling very much like an idiot. Ron paused before opening the door. Then he sighed.

"Come here," he said, pulling her to her feet. He wrapped his arms around her very tightly, and they relaxed into their usual embracing stance. Hermione's right hand wrapped around his waist while her left rubbed slowly up and down his back; Ron's right hand dropped around to the small of her back while his left travelled up her spine and into the crook of her neck, playing gently with her mass of curls. "I'm so glad you're here," he whispered, very quietly into her hair.

"I wish I could believe it," Hermione was tempted to say.


	4. Three

****

CHAPTER THREE

__

"No, it's just…very few people surprise me."  
"Really? Most of them shock the hell out of me."  
**Richard Gere and Julia Roberts, PRETTY WOMAN**

The rest of the holidays passed quickly enough and soon the Hogwarts students gathered once more at Platform nine and three-quarters to embark onto the steam engine that would take them back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for another year. Draco's parents didn't come to see him off again this year. Instead he was driven in a horseless carriage that Muggles called a "car" to King's Cross Station where an obliging house-elf carried his trunk for him. It was cruelly amusing to see the spindly little creature struggle through crowds of Muggles with a large wooden trunk that was about four times the size of it. "I say, look at that funny dog," muggles were saying. "Look at that, he's carrying that boy's trunk for him. Don't you think that's a bit cruel?"

Draco was sure it _was_ a bit cruel but he didn't care; that's what the servants were there for, after all. Unfortunately the first person he ran into was the person who was least likely to agree with him: Hermione Granger. And _ran into _was literally what happened.

"Oof!"

"Watch where you're going," Draco snapped and then groaned when he recognised the back of that bushy head. "Granger."

She turned- her hair ridiculously boofy, her eyes ridiculously vibrant. "Malfoy:" she said with similar contempt. Then she looked down at their feet, at the little house-elf struggling with Draco's trunk. Her eyes widened in anger. "I suppose this is your idea of entertainment," she snapped, relieving the tiny creature of its burden at once.

"Well, if it's provided so, how can I refuse it?" Draco said coolly, avoiding her gaze by staring contemptuously down at the house elf. 

"I see. Well you'll be happy to know," she grunted, hefting the heavy trunk in her hands, "that you've broken your own record and reached a new low before term's even started."

"Oh for Christ's sake," Draco said roughly. He grabbed the handles of the trunk, letting Granger's hands slide out from beneath his immediately. "You may go," he added curtly to the house elf.

"But sir, I is being told to stay until Master Draco is on the train-"

"Just bugger off!" Draco said irritably, and the elf scurried away, out of reach of Draco's boots.

"Oh, aren't we tough," sneered Granger, folding her arms across her chest. "Abusing a creature a third our size now? You'll be given an award for that one, Malfoy."

"I'm glad to see you haven't changed, Mudblood, you're still as witty as ever," Draco said disdainfully. The statement was deceptively honest, without either of them realising. Draco _was _glad she hadn't changed, and her snappy remarks were still as poignant as ever. At least _she _had some fight left in her. "And by the way, speaking of creatures who aren't tough, where's Weasley?" He was expecting to be triumphant in getting her goat, but all she did was raise her eyebrows. No basilisk-glare, no flash of anger in her eyes, no baring of teeth. All she did was crook her right eyebrow at him.

"I find it a bit rich that that remark is coming from someone who has hidden behind his family's fortune, status and lineage for all his life. Not so tough now, are you Malfoy, now that your father's picked the losing side?"

Something very cold reached out and grabbed Malfoy round the heart and squeezed. It was the same feeling he'd had when Potter had once insulted his mother back in fourth year. It was the same feeling he got when anyone said anything about his parents. "Watch your mouth Granger."

Something did flash in her eyes then, and Draco could only interpret it as cruelty. "What's the matter? Isn't daddy Death Eater providing for the family any more?"

Before Draco could stop himself, he'd thrown his trunk to the ground so violently the lid snapped open, reached out and grabbed her by the wrist. She looked surprised, but not pained, not even when he twisted with all his might. "You stupid _bitch_," he found himself hissing. She just stared up at him in shock. 

Weasley and Potter both swooped down on them then. There was a bit of a scene and it took both Potter and Granger holding Weasley back to stop him doing something violent. Eventually he was bundled onto the train and Draco was left to heft his trunk into an empty compartment. Neither Crabbe nor Goyle were anywhere to be seen, which was odd. Ususally one of them appeared by the time he was on the train to carry his things for him. Come to think of it… he hadn't had his usual couple of owls during the holidays. Crabbe and Goyle usually sent a few pieces of parchment each, but Draco never replied; in any case, neither of them had legible handwriting. 

"Oh well," he thought, shoving his trunk in an overhead compartment. He didn't feel up to ridiculous conversation- certainly not any class of conversation that Crabbe or Goyle could provide. An empty compartment would do him good. After all- hadn't he just spent the summer holidays without word or contact with his friends? Surely a train ride wasn't going to make much difference.

He threw himself down onto the train seat, thinking hard. Granger's comment in the station that morning was no doubt the first of many. He felt curiously detached from how he had reacted- as though it were someone else that grabbed her wrist and twisted it, and he had merely stepped outside his body and watched. He had been brought up as a gentleman. The one time he had been involved in any sort of fisticuffs was- well, that time Granger slapped him. Curious that the only physical violence he had ever bestowed on any person (house elves didn't count, surely) was the one person who had bestowed physical violence on him. Apart from his father of course.

Burt Draco had already disappointed his father enough this year. It wouldn't do to go and beat some sense into the man. It wasn't Draco's place to fight back. Besides, hadn't old Lucius always told Draco to rise above it all? _"Rise above the filth Draco- the half-bloods and the Muggle-borns and those who have no respect for pure wizarding blood. Don't respond to their violence. Don't bring shame to the family."_ Draco wondered if physically abusing a girl was an example of bringing shame to the family. "Oh well," he thought, again. If it got back to his father, he wouldn't mind, because all Draco had done was twist the wrist of a Mudblood, and no one had ever told him that Mudbloods counted. 

__

Knock, knock, knock. "Come in." Draco groaned. He had to fight back another groan when the compartment door slid open and he saw who it was.

"Draco!" said Pansy Parkinson, sitting by him at once. "I've been looking everywhere for you." 

"Hi Pansy," Draco said. He received her hug with his usual unresponsive manner- the girl could delude herself if she wanted to but he wasn't going to encourage her affections. (In hindsight, it had been a mistake to invite her to the Yule Ball- she seemed to have taken his invitation the wrong way.) Needless to say, Draco didn't appreciate being churned into the Hogwarts rumour mill, especially if it was involving the words "Pansy", "Parkinson's" and "boyfriend." 

Not to be deterred, Pansy leant against his shoulder, looking up at him with lovesick eyes. "Draco," she murmured, "it's all over the train that you and Hermione Granger were about to come to blows in the station this morning?"

"Untrue, as usual," Draco answered, getting to his feet and walking over to the window. "I would no sooner come to blows with Granger than I would wish to associate with her."

Pansy came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. "So what really happened?"

(Lying wasn't Draco's style.) "I grabbed her wrist and twisted it."

"You didn't!"

"I certainly did."

"Oooooh, Draco!" Pansy gave a malicious giggle. "That's awful! I'm so glad. She really deserves it, doesn't she?"

"Yes," said Draco, thinking of the flash of cruelty in Hermione's eyes. _What's the matter? Isn't daddy Death Eater providing for the family any more?_ It was unlike her to be so malicious- Draco supposed it was his comment about Weasley that set her off. (When would people learn that they made themselves vulnerable the moment they fell in love?) Oh well. At least he knew that she still had a bit of spunk. Weasley's furious reaction this morning was the first time Draco had managed to get a rise out of the ginger-haired idiot for ages. It seemed Weasley could only get angry on Granger' s behalf. And as for Potter, he was frankly disappointing. Draco sighed. 

"Something wrong?" Pansy simpered, slipping round so she was hugging his stomach. She placed her chin in the middle of his stomach and looked up at him with moony hazel eyes. 

She was quite pretty sometimes- perhaps it was the afternoon light shining through the train window- in any case, Draco approved of her right then much more than he had at the Yule Ball. Make-up didn't suit her narrow eyes and thin lips, having the effect of making her look much older and unattractive than she actually was. He liked the effect of the light on her autumn-blonde hair, which was probably what prompted him to run a hand through it. He was never able to resist touching pretty things, but in this case, wished he had had more willpower. Pansy beamed at him and immediately launched herself at his face. It wasn't the first time she had kissed him of course- in fact Draco had gotten a surprise after the Yule Ball when she had asked him to walk her up to the girls dorms and then promptly attacked him with kisses against the wall. It was a very demeaning experience, especially when he had had to turn her down in the politest way possible in the situation. ("What the _hell_ do you think you're _doing_?! Pansy, get off me!") 

That wasn't the last time he'd rejected her either, but she seemed to be encouraged by his frequent re-buffings rather than put off. It had never occurred to Draco that it might be prudent to put her off once and for all. But today he felt like _something_ should be done.

"Pansy," he said, pushing her away with all the gentleness he could muster. "What are you doing?"

She looked bewildered. "I'm…kissing you?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?" Draco said. She smiled in a bemused sort of way. 

"I'm kissing you," she said, with more conviction, and promptly leaned up to continue. Draco stopped her. "What's the matter?" she said finally. 

"You're kissing me." Draco said, he paused. He prided himself on his articulation and wit, It was important to get this right. "I admire you and I respect you, and I can be your friend. But I can't kiss you."

"Why not?"

The answer was simple. "Because I don't love you."

Her eyes widened. "But…I thought…Draco-" she was struggling to talk. Tears were beginning to fill her eyes. Draco was marveling at his own countenance- surely it wasn't normal to be rejecting a perfectly acceptable, attractive girl in this manner, watching her cry, and feeling nothing? No reaction, no emotion filled his heart, not a drop of sympathy. There was just nothing. This was what was practical, and it had to be done. "Draco, don't you think you could _come_ to love me?" she tried desperately. 

"No," he said simply. "I don't, and I never have. The only reason I invited you to the Ball was because you were my friend and my equal in status and wealth and…" She was sobbing now. Draco was shocked. He'd never seen anyone cry so hard over something so trifling- except maybe his mother, who in her worse states was prone to crying over anything from a dead cat to a broken nail. "Pansy?" said Draco.

"Don't bother!" Suddenly she was furious, shoving past him to the door. "It's quite clear that you think it acceptable to string me along for _years_, not even bothering to tell me how you really feel!" She paused at the door. "I thought you were better than that." She was clearly fighting back tears furiously. 'So how about all those girls? "They all mean nothing to me," you said."

"They didn't," said Draco. 

"Yeah, right!" Pansy snapped, "Why didn't you tell me that they were your girlfriends if we've been _just friends _all this time?"

"They weren't my girlfriends," Draco said, shrugging. "They were just…I don't know, they were nothing."

Pansy clearly found this unacceptable. "I don't believe you," she shouted finally, and turned on her heel and slammed out of the compartment. A moment later it was open again. "By the way," she said frostily. "Crabbe wanted me to pass on a message. Apparently he was too ashamed to tell you himself. He and Goyle failed their exams- they're not coming back to Hogwarts."

"What?" Draco said. In the same hour he's been shocked twice. First by Granger, now by..."Where are they?""

"Bulgaria," Pansy said with a malicious smirk. "Their parents thought it would be best, with- well, _you _know. Everything." Then she was gone with a swish of her long blonde hair. Draco looked out the window for a very long time. Again, he felt nothing. It surprised him that they weren't coming back, but it surprised him more that he felt nothing about the fact that they weren't coming back, since they had been the closest people he'd had to- well, close friends. 

But they hadn't really provided him with any real substance. Both were too stupid and too naive to provide any real friendship. Loyalty, certainly, and protection, of course. (His father had suggested that as well. _Find some friends who can protect you Draco, you'll be targeted within those walls_…) But a friend was someone who you could be yourself with. Someone who knew all about and still liked you. And Draco didn't have any real friends because no one knew all about him. He didn't have any need for them, though. 

All in all, a curious start to the year. The train chugged onwards, on its way to Hogwarts.


	5. Four

****

CHAPTER FOUR

__

"And I'm too young and too old. Too old to know that fears don't have to really exist, and too young not to be tormented by them…"  
**Richard Harris, CAMELOT**

AN: All right. The "Ron's Real Feelings" burble has changed so it's more plausible. I'm trying to make this as in character as possible and I know none of you are going to accept Ron's shyness lying down. So here's what I want you to consider when you're reading this: Ron is uncomfortable around girls, especially pretty girls or girls he feels strongly about (think of how he dealt with Fleur Delcaour.) Imagine you're Ron, and suddenly you're falling in love, and it's the scariest thing that's ever happened to you because you have never felt like this before. What would you do? Embrace with a smile on your face and a song in your heart? Pfft. Not if you were someone as bumbling as Ron, who, let's face it, is not in the running to be the next James Bond. (Anyway, whoever heard of a ginger haired James Bond?) The point is, before the Botox face lift of this story, I got a lot of reviews complaining that Ron is being an ass. He's not, he just scared.   
Also, it's two am and I really need sleep, so if the above spiel (which I'll probably re write in the morning) sounds bitchy, it's because I have about six assignments up my ass. I love you all, really. When I'm not tired.

Ron still didn't feel quite calm by the time they reached school. He kept seeing the picture in his mind- of Malfoy, twisting Hermione's wrist around until it must have hurt like hell, and Hermione's shocked face, staring up at Malfoy. It made him feel sick. What Malfoy had done was _violation_. It was abuse! Ron could admit readily there were times when the gentlemanly conduct he had been brought up with escaped him, but not even he had gone so far as to hurt a girl. It just wasn't done. He spent most of the train journey wishing Harry and Hermione hadn't held him back. This time, Malfoy had gone too far. To violate a girl- and not just any girl, _his_ girl, Hermione- it made Ron see RED.

"I can't take this," he found himself muttering as the train pulled into the station at Hogsmeade. "Nope, I can't take it."

Hermione put a hand on his wildly jigging leg in an effort to soothe him. Ron wished she wouldn't, because it had the opposite effect. "Oh come on!" he snapped, leaping to his feet and beginning to pace. "How can you let me let him get away with this. It's just not- I mean- he's gone too far!"

"Ron," she said quietly, "He didn't hurt me. The fact that you care this much is enough."

Harry, who had been staring out the window, holding Crookshanks the cat on his lap, turned quickly to look at them with a grin. "You're taking it pretty well."

"You would too if you knew he cared this much about you," Hermione laughed, taking Ron's hand. Her own hand was soft and tiny inside his large one, and he meekly sat down again, feeling a bit stupid. But Hermione tended to do that to him as well- she could very easily crush him with one or two well chosen words or a raised eyebrow. She could make him feel about three inches tall. 

"Go on then," Harry said, "would you stick up for me if Malfoy grabbed _my_ wrist?"

"I'd be worried if you couldn't stand up for yourself," Ron answered. _Calm down_, he forced himself. He managed to take a deep breath and force down his fury, but it was hard when Hermione's hand was on his leg as it was. It was hard to feel calm when his heart beat faster at her touch. 

"Why would I want to stand up for myself when I've got big strong Ron Weasley to protect me- or do your services only extend to beautiful girls?" He shrugged when Hermione punched him in the arm. "I'm just being honest." 

Ron's ears felt hot as old entrenched fears stirred in his heart. Oh, he knew Harry and Hermione would never betray him- the thought had never even crossed his mind- but ever since they had become friends, Harry and Hermione had always had something Ron could never quite catch. They had a mature, grown up, neutral- _healthy_- relationship. In comparison, Ron felt as though his relationship with Hermione was a small nuclear device. He grunted in answer to Harry's question, feeling decidedly put out. In the corner of his eye, he could see Harry and Hermione exchange their _oh-he's-in-one-of-_those_-moods_ glance. 

"Hey," said Harry, to break the silence, with a sparkle in his eyes that was distinctly reminiscent of Dumbledore, "speaking of protectors- or lack thereof, maybe-guess what I heard when I went to the bathroom?"

"What?" said Ron and Hermione in unison.

"Crabbe and Goyle failed their exams- they're not coming back to Hogwarts!"

"_What_?!"

"Are you sure?' said Hermione. "Who did you hear it from?"

"Pansy Parkinson," said Harry. "She was yelling it at Malfoy and the compartment door was open. The whole corridor would have heard."

"Pansy was _yelling_ at Malfoy?" repeated Hermione gleefully. "That makes a change from kissing his arse!"

"_Hermione_!" Ron cried, shocked, even though Harry laughed. It wasn't like Hermione to swear _or_ be malicious- especially in the same sentence. "You think they're broken up, Harry?"

"If they were going out in the first place, certainly, she was very angry…." said Harry. He paused to stroke Crookshanks behind the ears and then thoughtfully continued. "So I suppose Draco- by the sounds of it- doesn't have his friends _or_ his girlfriend any more." 

"Or his status, or his power, or his wealth from what I've heard," Hermione put in.

"Or his scruples, or his dignity," muttered Ron.

"But then, he never had those," Hermione reminded him. "So I guess that all Draco has left going for him are his looks." Something very nasty squirmed in Ron's stomach while Harry did an imitation of someone throwing up.

"Oh, _please_, Hermione, I thought you had better taste- at least, until you started going out with Ron."

"Ah, ha, ha," Ron said sarcastically, throwing his shoe at Harry's head. It missed and bounced off the window, hitting Crookshanks in the head instead. There was a momentary distraction in the following brouhaha which involved Crookshanks's claws and certain sensitive parts of Harry's lower body- needless to say, Harry wished Ron had waited until Crookshanks had _left_ his lap before hitting the cat with a shoe. But Ron still felt something in his stomach that was not to be ignored, and would not go away as they grabbed their trunks from the overheads compartments and boarded the horseless carriages that would take them to Hogwarts. "Looks like rain," Harry remarked, noting the clouds that had crept up on the sun. "Okay," Harry said, grinning at Hermione once they were in a carriage. "You don't _really_ think Draco _Malfoy_ is handsome, do you?"

"He is…tolerable, I suppose," Hermione answered thoughtfully. "_But_, any attractiveness he might harbour is immediately cancelled out by his hideous personality."

"Hideous!" repeated Ron gratefully, "you think he's hideous?"

"Of course I do," Hermione answered, giving his hand a squeeze. Ron felt guilty for a moment- had she sensed his doom-laden feeling? In any case, it felt better now, and he held onto her hand tightly as they walked into the Great Hall together. When he spotted Draco Malfoy giving them a frosty gaze, he put his arm around her shoulders protectively. Hermione gave him a surprised smile and responded gratefully, by cosying into his side. Ron's heart gave a little shudder. 

It was times like these he thought that maybe he should let her in on his little secret.

Hermione didn't know it, and he himself hadn't known it until she came to stay at the Burrow, but Ron was in love. Smitten, head over heels, fallen so deep he was up to his ears in it. Not even he knew the extent of how much he loved her- but he knew it was far beyond any comprehensible reach. Of course he knew he _loved_ her- he always had, they were best friends, after all. And he knew that she loved him. But this was different, this was something very real, very tangible, and very terrifying. 

Of course you have to remember that Ron was only sixteen years old, barely a young adult; not only that, he was a boy. He was an earnest young lover but feeling the way he did just made him terrified. Was it really normal to think of her so constantly? He fancied the way he felt was the equivalent to flying as high as he possibly could into the air on a broomstick that had no bristles and no way of landing. Despite all the adventures and near death experience he had had in his sixteen years, he felt this one was scariest. But it wasn't so much the way he _felt_ that was scary- it was the way _she_ felt. 

Far too often were the times when he thought that she would much rather they'd stayed just friends. Far too often were the times when he would lose sleep worrying, thinking, analysing. It was strange- until he and Hermione had started _dating_- if he could even use that word- he had never thought twice about anything he said to her.

But now everything meant more. Everything was loaded with innuendoes and the air between them was thick with unspoken words. He was more honest with Hermione than he was with anyone else he knew- he had told her things that he had never pictured himself uttering aloud. And yet he couldn't tell her this. Not as long as there was any doubt in his mind as to her own feelings. There were times- like right then- when she seemed to want to touch him- to hold him and kiss him and hold his hand and let everyone know he was hers. Those were the moments when Ron was most inclined to draw away- for fear of confusion, rejection, _anything_. It was ridiculous. She was his best friend in the whole world and he was terrified of her. Any day now, he was likely to let it slip and then everything would be blown to pieces. He knew without a doubt that Hermione would be scared off by his intense feelings. 

And he compared their relationship to a small nuclear device? Hah. Try hydrogen bomb.

*

"Miss Granger! Master Malfoy!" was the delighted exclamation that heralded their first Arthmancy lesson of the year. Hermione looked up, surprised. Professor Vector was standing over her desk, with the gleeful expression that only Arithmancy seemed to conjure up on her face. "You'll never guess what!"

"What?" came the disinterested drawl of Draco Malfoy to Hermione's right. Hermione looked over. She'd been so preoccupied when she'd wandered into the Arithmancy classroom that she hadn't realised she'd chosen a seat right next to him. An involuntary groan escaped her, and Draco's bright blue gaze immediately turned onto her face. Hermione just rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach. It would be an inconvenience to have to sit next to him all year, that was all. Just an inconvenience. _Don't let him get to you._

"What is it, professor?" she said brightly, turning back to her second favourite teacher.

"You'll never guess it, Miss Granger, but for once you have been matched mark for mark!" Professor vector continued excitedly, waving a piece of parchment in each hand.

"I wouldn't have guessed," murmured Hermione, not especially liking where the professor's excited announcement was leading.

"But you'll be happy to know," Professor Vector continued, laying a piece of parchment down in front of each of them, "that the marks you both got were the highest marks I have ever had the pleasure to- well, mark!" She gave a delighted laugh. "Well done, both of you! Now, I'll just get the lesson started." Because the Arithmancy class was so small, Professor Vector liked to keep her lectures informal and involved. In fact, including Hermione and Draco, there were only eleven Arithmancy students in sixth year, most of whom had already filed in and taken their seats by this point. 

Hermione picked up the paper she had just been given, which was filled with an unfamiliar, elegant handwriting. The name at the top of the page read "Draco Malfoy"- and the mark read "350 percent". Three hundred and fifty was the highest mark you could get for an OWL and it was the mark Hermione had gotten for her Arithmancy exam. If the parchment she was reading wasn't part of her imagination- Draco, too had gotten 350. She turned quickly to glance at him- rather unfortunately at the same time he turned to look at her. She looked away again, back to his exam. His answers (though it cost her a lot to admit it, even to herself) really were rather good. Certainly nothing like she would expect from Draco, whose marks were never spectacular and whose only real acclaim within the school came from his family name- and, sometimes, a rather good performance in Quidditch. _I wouldn't have given this three-fifty though_, Hermione thought scornfully. She felt his gaze on her and she turned to face him uninhibited.

"Well done," she said coolly, passing him his exam.

"And to you," came the flat reply. He slid the piece of paper over to her on the desk, and she had just put her hand on it to slide it back over her way when he tapped her fingers with his, prompting her to pull away. "I liked this answer," he said, pointing to number six. "Really clever," he added, after a pause.

There was something in his voice that made Hermione turn her head. She knew the tone but she was afraid to think it. Wasn't it…wasn't it…_Admiration? From Draco?_ It was. She swallowed. "I liked your number eight, actually. I found that one difficult, and…" she trailed off, realising what she'd just done, which was admit a failing to Draco, which was a cardinal sin. But then, Draco did something completely and utterly unbelievable.

He said, "So did I, actually." 

Hermione turned to stare at him with her mouth hanging open. It was unheard of. Draco had just admitted that he had actually had trouble with something. He was accepting her compliment with modesty and grace, and none of his usual smug character. But before Hermione could decide whether or not she was dreaming, he had shoved her paper towards her in his usual ungracious manner and turned to stare at the front of the classroom with a sulky expression.

"So sorry my slimy Mudblood hands are in the same atmosphere as yours," she murmured out of the side of her mouth. "If you don't like it you can move. Preferably to another planet."

"Actually, Granger, I was just wondering if you have some sort of alarm system hooked up to you," Draco said softly, "I mean, if I so much as breathe near you, Weasley will come running, won't he?"

"Actually, _Malfoy_," Hermione said mockingly, trying to keep her voice as quiet as possible, "while Ron objects to you breathing in general, I'm sure the reason he came running yesterday- if that is indeed the incident to which you are referring- was because you were physically abusing me. He'd do the same for any girl who was being physically abused by you."

"Physically abused…" Draco repeated in a disdainful mutter. "Face it Granger, Weasley just doesn't like other boys so much as looking at you. I mean- he doesn't even like Potter being too close to you."

"Oh!" Hermione said sarcastically, and rather too loudly. Professor Vector paused in what she was saying.

"Is there something wrong, Hermione?"

"No Professor, I just…dropped my quill. Carry on." Hermione ducked gratefully under the desk for as few moment to hide her blush. The problem with having a smaller class was that exposure to the other students was extremely personal and painful. It looked as thought things were going to get quite painful, actually, if she had to sit next to Draco all year. She sat up straight again with a burst of confidence. "Oh, so now you know everything about Ron and Harry and I, do you?"

"Only as much as anyone else who isn't blind can see," Draco said. Hermione hadn't been looking at him but the extremely amused to tone his voice prompted her to turn and stare at him. he was smirking at her. Hermione stared.

__

He's just trying to get a rise out of you. Don't let him get to you…

"You're pathetic," she said, turning back to the front of the classroom, making it clear that the conversation was over.

"I'd rather be pathetic than in denial. You must know that you're going out with a complete prat."

__

Don't let him get to you! Hermione's mouth opened in an angry response as a push of fury leapt up her throat. She quickly shut her mouth and turned away again, gritting her teeth.

"Can't defend him, eh?"

Hermione gave a shudder of anger."Just leave me alone, Malfoy." _Yes, good. You know that he's only doing this to get to you._

"I wouldn't dream of _physically abusing_ you, if that's what you're worried about, Granger."

"I'm not worried," she snapped, "I just want you to leave me alone!" He laughed, and she turned once again to glare at him. Not a trace of malice was on his usually spiteful pale face. He just grinned at her. And it was, she realised with a start, the first time she had ever seen him grin so…happily? Properly? What was the right word…intimately? 

__

Curious, she thought, _the difference it can make to a person's face…when he smiles…_

"What's so funny?"

"You. You're bothered." He put his finger to his lips as she opened her mouth to protest. "Shhhh."

Hermione looked to her right to receive a glare from a classmate trying to listen to professor Vector's lecture. _This is stupid_, she realised, _I'm letting Malfoy distract me form what's important. I can't let him get to me like this_. But despite a renewal of her vow to concentrate rather than listen to his poisonous words, she would remember what he whispered to her next for a long time. 

"But perhaps…" he said, "not bothered enough."


	6. Five

****

CHAPTER FIVE

__

"There's a name that plays in my head like a song, all day long, she's with me every day….After all, in the end, its just pretend…If the sun can shine you will be just fine, look into your mind when you're free…(after all in the end, it's just pretend) 'Caue we hurt each other once before, let's not do that again…After all, in the end, it's just pretend…"

****

"Just Pretend", THE THREE BENS

AN: I love all you guys who come back here checking for updates in the blind faith that I might have actually improved it. I'm actually much happier with the way the story is going this time, it's some much tidier and less confusing than the last one. Hurrah. What do you guys think? Better or worse? Let me know.   
Meanwhile, I have SO MANY BLOODY ASSIGNMENTS IT'S NOT FUNNY. This whole workload thing is completely ruining the university experience for me. I have to say, I'm quite disappointed with, you know, my life. But enough about me. let's talk more about Ron. He's cool. Oh, just read the chapter. 

*

Ron came back to the Gryffindor common room after the first day of school in a spectacularly bad mood. The day had started with an assembly for all the sixth years in which Dumbledore had announced those students who were on the list for consideration for Head Boy and Girl- and while Harry's an Hermione's names had both been on the list, Ron's hadn't. Then followed double Potions- a class which they still shared with the Slytherins- and then, after lunch, he had had another double period of Divination. Professor Trewlawney had become insufferable since it was revealed that she had made a real prediction in the presence of Harry Potter, and the school's non-believers had suddenly started treating her with a bit of respect. It was also intolerable to have to spend two hours with Parvati Patil, his ex-girlfriend, lording it over the rest of the class because of her perfect Divination grades. At least she was no loner on speaking terms with Lavender Brown- the two of them together had been double torture. Nowadays, Lavender preferred to spend her time with Hermione, having unexpectedly revealed herself last year to be not quite the ditz Ron had made her out to be. She was extremely over-sensitive, but she had a sincerity about her that was quite endearing; and, though her developed skills as a conversationalist were wasted on someone such as Ron, who only talked when he needed to, she was kind and amiable and occasionally made an observation worth listening to. 

But by dinnertime that evening, Ron was in no mood for her incessant chatter. What he would have liked, more than anything, was to stay up in the common room with Hermione and lay his head down in her lap, with her hands in his hair, and just talk- or not talk. Just _being_ with her would have been nice. But there didn't seem to be the time or the space to slip away for a quiet bit of time alone, not with start-of-term spirits running high and their fellow Gryffindors surrounding them. Ron knew what would happen if he and Hermione wandered off for a bit of chat- Dean and Seamus would whistle and whoop and make seedy innuendoes; Lavender would beam and nod at them like a proud mother seeing her daughter off to a school dance; and Harry would smile and shake his head and look away. The noisy Hall did nothing to calm his headache, and the stiff wooden chairs felt anything but comfortable. 

Hermione, too, was in a demonstrably sour mood, but she seemed to be dealing with it by behaving snappy and silent. Ron wondered what her problem was, and why she wouldn't turn to him for consolation. The observation wasn't particularly heartening, and even Harry's relatively neutral mood was spoiled by the fact that he was expecting a letter from Sirius and it had not yet come. 

"You're in a mood," Harry remarked, as Hermione flicked a few slices of carrot aside, morosely.

"Oh, am I?" she said vaguely. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise," said Harry. "What's up?"

"Oh, things." Hermione said, and then fell silent, with a sideways glance at Ron. Not a very _nice_ sideways glance, either, which made him leap to the sudden, deadly conclusion that it was _he_ who had put her in a bad mood. He immediately ran through the events of the day, trying to pinpoint what it was so he could apologise.

"Not hungry?" said Hermione, as Ron put his fork down so he could rest his head in his hands.

"Nope," said Ron. Actually, he had been starving before dinner, but as usual, seeing Hermione made other trivial things like retaining sustenance fly out of his head. Harry continued talking quietly as he piled his mushrooms onto Hermione's plate (Harry couldn't stand mushrooms.) "Got lots of homework from Vector?"

"What? Oh no, she didn't give us any." Hermione said absent-mindedly. Within seconds though, her brow furrowed and she was speaking hotly. "But Draco Malfoy! Somehow I've ended up sitting next to him, and he's even worse close up! _God_, he was bothering me all throughout the lecture, I didn't catch a _word_ of it, and-"

Ron, who had been taking a swig of pumpkin juice, slammed down his goblet on the table with such force that it sloshed onto the cuff of his school uniform. "Draco Malfoy."

"Yes," said Hermione, concerned.

"Him? Again, bothering you?" He shoved back his chair. "Right."

"Ron," said Harry. "Don't be stupid. Ron-"

But Ron was marching over to the Slytherin table, reckless discourse pouring through his legs and propelling him forward. He'd had it up to there with Draco Malfoy- they hadn't even been back at Hogwarts for three days and _twice_ Draco had already troubled Hermione- who on earth did he think he was? What right did he have to go around abusing Ron's poor Hermione? In Ron's opinion Malfoy wasn't even fit enough to talk to her, look at her, or even think about her. Which was exactly what he was planning to tell Malfoy when he reached the table. 

"Right, you," he said, hauling Malfoy bodily out of his chair. Malfoy looked dumbly up at him for a second or two, his fork still in his hand. Then his face settled into its usual smirk and Ron prepared himself for the twin shadows of Crabbe and Goyle to loom over him. But then he remembered- there was no Crabbe and Goyle this year- nothing to stop him beating Malfoy to a bloody pulp!

Except Professor Dumbledore, of course. 

"Ah, Ronald," he said, emerging at a most awkward moment from the dungeons with Professor Snape in tow. "I wanted to have a word with you up in my office. You're finished dinner, I assume?"

"Yes, Professor," mumbled Ron, dropping Malfoy immediately. The Slytherin slipped satisfyingly to the floor, hitting his chair on the way.

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Weasley,' said Snape, in his quiet, silken voice, "I hope you're all friends over here."

"Yes Professor," said Malfoy, in a mocking imitation of Ron, getting to his feet with more grace than he had when he'd gone down. 

"Well, how convenient for us all," Dumbledore said, giving Ron a wink. "Ron, if you'd wait for me to grab a bite of dinner, I daresay you'd like some dessert, and then we can retreat to my office?"

"Certainly, sir," Ron said, feeling his stomach tingle. He hadn't even done anything to Malfoy- surely the headmaster wasn't about to punish him? He felt suddenly ashamed, even though the professor was giving him a smile. It can't have been an especially noble sight- seeing Ron interrupt Malfoy's dinner by hauling him right out of his chair. Dumbledore surely wouldn't have approved, and Ron hated disappointing his benevolent headmaster. He felt deflated as he walked back to his seat, while Dumbledore and Snape moved on to the teacher's tale, talking quietly. Harry and Hermione had watched the whole thing.

"You didn't get in trouble, did you?"

"Dunno," said Ron, "Dumbledore wants to see me in his office after dinner."

Hermione's eyebrows raised in alarm. "Oh _no_! Oh, Ron, you don't think you'll get punished, do you?"

"I don't see why," said Harry, frowning, "Ron didn't do anything- except interrupt Malfoy's dinner."

"I'd like to interrupt Malfoy's _breathing_." Ron snarled, with more ferocity than he'd intended. The truth was, all the anger that had propelled him over to the Slytherin table a few moments before had left him, like a balloon expelling air. It was an unsatisfying, empty feeling. 

What was happening to him? Lately it seemed like he could barely concentrate on anything except Hermione. Sometimes he felt like he had lost all his fight. He looked over at her and she smiled sadly at him. "You shouldn't have done that," she said softly, "not on my account."

"_I'd do anything on your account,"_ is what Ron _wanted_ to say. Instead all could manage was, "Well…I did." She took his hand anyway, and entwined her fingers through his, very softly and very lovingly drawing each fingertip across the upper side of his hand. How he would have loved to forget everything then, all his worried, all his fears, all the trembling of his knees when she came into the same room he was in. _It's all worth it_, he convinced himself. 

*

"It's starting to rain," Harry said gloomily, looking out the library window. "Oh well, summer's over again."

"Well, that tends to happen when autumn starts," Hermione agreed. "You sound awfully whimsical this evening."

"Oh, don't mind me," Harry said.

"Oh, I won't." Hermione said evenly. Harry raised his eyebrows and tried to look serious.

"As I was _saying_- don't mind me, I'm just a bit, you know…what's the adjective for think? Thinky?"

"Thoughtful," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Honestly, I don't know how you churn out such good Charms essays, you've such a pathetic vocabulary. Why, what've you got to think about?"

"Well, Ron, for one thing."

Hermione paused. Just the thing she'd been trying _not_ to think about. "All right," was all she found she had to say. Harry looked up at her with alert green eyes.

"That's it? You don't have anything to add, like, "Gee Harry, I love him so much, I'm just _constantly_ thinking of him"?"

Hermione smirked. "Nope."

"Good, I don't want to be sick all over my Divination homework." He paused. "I suppose it's nothing to worry about…."

"Most things are."

"Yes, but- don't you- I mean…I find it harsh that- well, Dumbledore put _our_ names on the list for Head Boy and Girl and not _his_, and I do think he's a bit…hurt."

Hermione twiddled her quill, thoughtfully. She hadn't even considered that to be the source of Ron's rotten mood. It was plausible, of course, but… "Harry, Ron doesn't even _want_ to be Head Boy."

"How do you know?" Harry challenged. 

"I'm sure he would have said something," Hermione said dismissivley, though she knew it wasn't true. If Ron was indeed upset about his lack of nomination, of course he wasn't going to open his mouth and complain about it. He was far too proud to do that. "And if you're really worried, just ask him about it."

"I was hoping you would," said Harry flatly. 

"Me? Why?" And in the split second that Harry's face showed and expression of shock, of disappointment, of bewilderment, Hermione knew. Of course she knew. As a girlfriend, she was expected to do that. To trundle around after Ron making sure he felt okay. To help him sort through his problems, to comfort and to care for him, to stroke his soft red hair and kiss his freckly nose and let him know that even if things didn't turn out okay, she'd be here for him, and that was what was important. When they had been just friends, she would have done that anyway, because she wanted to let Ron know, more than anything, that she cared. Despite all the fights and the tears and the silent sulks, she really did care about him- and she knew he cared about her. 

Now she wasn't so sure. How could she explain to Harry? That every time she hugged or kissed or held hands with Ron she felt like he was desperate to pull away. She had known that things would be bashful at first- she had felt nothing less than terrified when they first embarked on their almost experimental relationship- but it was seven months now, for goodness' sake. Perhaps Ron had changed his mind, but was too afraid to tell her? (And, if that was indeed that case…would she mind all that much?)

"Harry," she started, slowly, "has he…said anything? About me? I mean," she said, noting Harry's raised eyebrows, "Did _I_ put him in a bad mood?"

Now Harry looked startled. "Y'what?"

"Well- he's been in such a rotten mood for the pat few hours- was it my fault, d'you think?"

"What-?! Not at all! Hermione," Harry snorted, "you could no more put Ron in a bad mood than Malfoy could put him in a _good_ mood."

"Sorry."

"Don't apologise. Now, look," Harry said, smiling kindly, "he _hasn't_ said anything to me actually, but you know Ron. He's not the most _emotionally articulate _person around- how's _that_ for a vocabulary?- and let's face it, he's pretty sensitive." He looked troubled. "That's why I'm worried. He wouldn't tell us if he were upset by it, but he'd let us know another way."

"You're right," Hermione managed to say, even though she was thinking. _No, that's not true, not anymore. Usually he comes to me when he's in a bad mood, so I can cheer him up._ But she decided not to say anything because if she herself didn't understand, then Harry certainly wouldn't. Instead she faked a yawn and pleaded tiredness to avoid any more stick question.

__

It won't do to say anything about- or to- Ron, until I'm really sure what's happening, she decided, as she and Harry walked back to the common room. Maybe they weren't destined, as she had previously thought. maybe all they had was a mild attraction to each other which got confused with their volatile relationship into passion, into love. Maybe all they really had was a deep friendship.

But she knew that was wrong as well, as soon as she saw him when they walked back into the common room, because friends certainly didn't feel their heart beat faster when they looked at each other, and that was exactly what Hermione got when she spotted Ron. He was lying on the couch in front of the fire, reading, with a bag of Bertie Botts beans resting on his stomach and he smiled up at her as she approached. 

"Aha, the return of the forgotten smile," Harry said, laughing as they reached him.

"Sorry?" said Ron. "Hi," he added, giving Hermione's shoulder a squeeze as she knelt down next to him. (Hermione wished that he would kiss her on the cheek, but she felt glad for his touch anyway.)

"You're in a much better mood," Harry observed, as he shoved Ron's legs out of the way and sat down on the couch. "You didn't get in trouble then?"

"No, not at all," Ron said, "Dumbledore didn't give a fig about Malfoy. What he called me in there to tell me was that I'm really close to being on the list for consideration for Head Boy."

"That's fantastic!" Hermione cried.

"Brilliant," Harry sighed in relief. 

"All I've got to do to get on the list," Ron informed them, taking a handful of beans, "is to hand in a couple of good essays and make sure I set a good example for the younger students a bit more."

"Set an example?" Hermione said.

"Obviously a polite way of saying 'Don't break the bloody school rules this year'" Ron said with a grin at her. Hermione's heart felt a bit weak. Most of her fears seemed to fly out the window whenever he was around. 

"That's so cool," Harry said, "But you know, now that we're in direct competition with each other, though, I don't expect we'll be able to stay friends."

"No, in fact, I think I'll rally support against you. Negative campaigning you know- works a charm. I'll tell the whole school about how bad your shoes smell after Quidditch."

"You _wouldn't._"

"Try me."

"All right then, I'll tell everyone about that song you sing when you're in the shower."

"Everyone sings that song in the shower," Ron said, rolling his eyes.

"I'll tell them how you sing it _soprano_."

Ron gasped in mock terror. "You _bastard_." He paused, then added, "I do not sing it in soprano." Harry just grinned and pinched Ron on the palm of the hand where it really hurts, and Ron made a squealing noise. "Right, _git_!" The bag of beans went flying as Ron leapt to his feet and proceeded to chase Harry all the way up to the boys dorms, nearly flattening Ginny on their way past. 

"What're they like," said Ginny disgustedly, joining Hermione next to the fire. Hermione rolled her eyes and laughed, picking a few beans off her school jumper.

"Who knows? I'm just glad they didn't start playing the bean game again."

"What's the bean game?"

Hermione explained. 'What they do is try to fit as many beans in their mouth as they can-"

"- And then when their mouth is full they start singing the national anthem," Ginny finished for her. "He's been playing that one with Bill, Charlie, Fred and George for ages." She paused "Funny. I thought he'd grown out of it."

"Nope. He's still just as insane as ever," Hermione said. A little part of her felt warm when she said that, as though some delightful nostalgic music were playing. Ginny was looking at her.

"Yes, but…he's grown up a lot in the past year or so. Don't you think?"

"Yes," Hermione said, still collecting spilled beans. Ginny's gaze didn't waver. "Ginny, what is it?"

"I was just wondering…" she said, "whether you thought he had changed for the better?"

Hermione stared. She didn't even have an answer, she was so surprised. "What brought this on?" she asked, bewildered.

"Oh, nothing," said Ginny, colouring.

"No, Ginny- _what_?"

Ginny looked uncertain. "Hermione- please don't get cross- I don't mean this to offend you at all, but…"

"But?"

"Sometimes you talk about how things were before you and Ron were together like you miss it, I mean, you even call it "the good old days" and I'm just wondering whether or not you've made the right decision." It was obviously something she'd been sitting on for a while, for the words tumbled out in a graceless rush, leaving Ginny bright red in the face- and Hermione astounded.

She'd had no idea she was giving the impression that she preferred being Ron's friend to Ron's girlfriend. Yes, they'd had some good times, and yes, there'd always been a spark that left her feeling full of fizzy champagne from her head to her toes. But there was also horrible times when she would lie awake at night, thinking, analyzing, why did he do this, what did he think when I said that. And…and…

And nothing had changed.

She was still just as confused, and their relationship was still as volatile. The only difference was now that she couldn't let Ron know how she felt because she was already supposed to be feeling another way, which was, presumably, in love with him. 

"Ginny…" Hermione said uncertainly. "I don't know what you're thinking. If I talk about the "good old days" fondly, it's not because I prefer them to _now_- it's just that I always enjoy the time I spend with Ron. It makes me happy to be with him." Which was true. She loved it when he was around- he was a pleasure to look at and a pleasure to be with. 

Ginny looekd downcast. 'I know- of course! It's just…sometimes…"

"What?"

"he never says anything of course, but…sometimes he just looks so _worried…_" She took a deep breath. "And I think, maybe he should talk to Hermione. But he wouldn't, would he? Not if it was _you _who he was worried about. And I aked him about it, I said, "is anything wrong that I can help you with?" and he said "no, only one person can do that."

"he said that?" Hermione paused. It didn't _sound_ likesoemthing Ron would say Especially lately- why on earth would he _worry_? Wasn't she trying to do everything a good girldfriend would do? She tired- he wouldn't let her. She decided to sieze the issue by the horns and go up to talk to him. She bade goodnight to Ginny and strode confidnetly up the stairs, ignoring the suggestive whoop from one of her (obviously, more immature) peers below. When she entered the dorm without knocking, Harry, who had just been sorting out his pyjamae top, yelped and dove into the bathroom. Ron was lying on his bed, reading again, facing the ceiling. He looked up qhen she entered and smiled, beckoning her over. "Off to bed?"

"Yeah," she yawned, "I'm exhausted."

"Sweet dreams," Ron said, stretching out his hand for hers. He then brought her hand to his mouth and gave it a dry peck, and then, without another word, turned back to his book. Hermione felt her stomach curl. What was she doing wrong? She considered just walking off and going to bed and not thinking any more of it- but Hermione's mind was far too analytical not to leave it unfinished. She sat down on the bed next to his legs and lay down on his torso, so that her chin rested on his chest. He looked down at her. "Hello."

"Hey. You going to stay up for a while longer?"

"Might," he shrugged, shifting Hermione's head. "Might not."

"You shouldn't stay up too late, you'll be tired for tomorrow."

"I know." He turned the page of his book. It seemed their conversation was over.

"Well…good night."

"Night."

Hermione paused. Then she leant up and kissed him softly. It wasn't very long, and when she broke away, Ron gave her a smile. "What was that for?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"You know why. Don't you?"

"Aw, Hermione," he said, blushing. "Thanks." He gave her a peck on the forehead and then turned back to his book.

__

Aw Hermione thanks?! Hermione thought incredulously. _What…what on earth did I do to make him like this?_ She slipped out from underneath his arms and ran up to the dorms, not bothering to answer his following call of "G'night, sleep well!"

Sleep well? She hardly slept at all.


	7. Six

****

CHAPTER SIX

__

"And now for something completely different."

****

John Cleese (and assorted others), MONTY PYTHON

"Professor McGonagall," Draco said at the end of the lesson. "Could I have a word with you, if you're not busy?"

She looked up at him sharply. McGonagall was crotchety at the best of times, and Draco knew that he had never been one of her favourites. Unlike Professor Snape and the Slytherins, she didn't openly favour the Gryffindors in class- well, as far as he knew, as Transfiguration was about the only class the Slytherins and the Gryffindors didn't have together- and most Hogwarts students agreed that she was strict but fair. But there was no reason for her to like the son of a Death Eater, especially if that particular son had been openly unenthusiastic to disdainful about the Professor _and_ her subject for the past five years. She wasn't vindictive about her dislike for Draco, but when she did have to address him, she did tend to look at him as though he were something that came out of a raccoon's bottom.

"Yes Malfoy, what is it?" she said tersely.

"It's about my OWL exam," Draco answered. This obviously wasn't what she was expecting- nor it seemed, was his mark because she actually gave him a thin-lipped smile. Draco had seen it happen before, but never directed at him. 

"Yes Malfoy, I meant to congratulate you on that mark. Most surprising. I never knew Transfiguration was one of your fortes." She raised a thin eyebrow. 

"It's not usually," said Draco. He took a deep breath. "But I'd like it to be."

She put down the quill she had been writing with after a moment or two of quiet, unreadable regard. "And why is that?"

Draco hadn't been expecting that question. The simplest way to answer it, obviously, was to tell her the truth. "Well…I never realised I could be so good at it. It's difficult, and the challenge is good for me. I also…" He sighed uncertainly. "I just…I just…"

Professor McGonagall's thin lipped smile had softened slightly. "You don't have to tell me." Draco was finding it hard explaining it to _himself_, so he stopped rambling, gratefully. She picked up her quill again. "All right Mr. Malfoy, I admire your decision to become more acquainted with Transfiguration. How do you suggest you do it?"

"Well I was hoping you would give me some kind of tutoring, you know. Out of class." 

Professor McGonagall was jotting something down on the piece of parchment in front of her. "Hogwarts Professors are not allowed to tutor their students, according to the school rules. It would be unfair. However, I can offer you tutelage from one of our more advanced Transfiguration students, if you would like. I'm sure she would be willing to oblige."

Draco felt a stab of anxiety. He was hoping to do it secretly, so no one would know that Draco Malfoy was trying to improve at _Transfiguration,_ of all things. "Um, Professor…"

"She will, of course, be sworn to secrecy, though I myself cannot vouch for her silence. However, I'm sure that she will uphold the promise- if you ask her nicely."

"Sure," mumbled Draco. He had the bizarre feeling that Professor McGonagall was making fun of him, somehow. She folded the parchment twice and then handed it to him. "I've arranged your first tutoring session for Friday night. That is, if you yourself are not busy."

"No, professor," Draco said, pocketing the parchment. "I'll go to the school owlery now."

"Good," said professor McGonagall, turning back to her work. "Good day, Malfoy."

"Good day, Professor." Draco left the classroom and turned into the by now empty corridors- Transfiguration had been the last class for the day and everyone was at dinner. He could hear the rumble of a thousand Hogwarts students beneath his feet as he walked along the second floor to the staircase that led upwards to the Owlery. 

Already he could feel shame beginning to boil in his stomach. If his father knew…! _But he doesn't_, Draco reminded himself. And Lucius wouldn't find out, either. Just like he had never found out that Draco had always relatively liked Transfiguration. Aware that it was not prudent for someone from a long line of Slytherins to show an active interest in a subject that was not only run by the Head of Gryffindor house (and indeed, it was tradition for the Head of Gryffindor to run it) but was also closely studied by most of those in the order of the Phoenix and the Aurors of Britain, Draco had never told anyone that he had always quite liked the subject. Dumbledore himself had once taught Transfiguration at Hogwarts, before going on to become headmaster after Harold Dippet died. 

It was most definitely a subject prized by Gryffindors and/or those against Voldemort. It was no coincidence that most students in Gryffindor found transfiguration was their forte- except perhaps that hapless half-wit, Longbottom.

So why did Draco find himself drawn to the subject? Well…why not? He had always liked the process of turning something into something else, and he had the kind of mind that could very easily decipher all of the complicated notes and apply it with ease to the actual process of transfiguration. What he had said to McGonagall was true- it was difficult, and he did like the challenge. In addition to that there was an idea behind transfiguration that also appealed to him. Nothing was concrete, set in stone, if everything on the earth could be transformed into something else. There was always hope for the bad, and condemnation for the good. It was fascinating, in a way.

He decided, upon reaching the Owlery, to send one of the school owls with the note, lest his new tutor, whoever she was, recognise it and be put off from tutoring him immediately. If she was a Gryffindor- and it was more than likely that she was, as most of the advanced students in transfiguration were- then it was probably best that she didn't know to whom she was giving lesson until she had actually been commissioned into doing it. Draco had been aware for some time that he wasn't particularly well liked around the school, even before Lord Voldemort had risen again. Even some of the other Slytherins tended to glare at him nowadays. Not many people, not even the most pure-blooded Slytherins, wanted Voldemort back, being for the most part quite content to exercise their disliked for Mudbloods by antagonizing those who were not of wizard born just at Hogwarts. But even the Muggle baiting within the Hogwarts walls seemed to have dissolved. Everyone was in the same boat, now. Scared.

It was more likely to see a pure blood like himself being bullied than a Muggle born, these days. He hadn't as yet gotten any more comments about his father like the one Hermione Granger had delivered to him on platform nine and three Quarters, but it was only a matter of time. Even Muggle-lovers like Weasley and his ilk were being given a rest by the Muggle-baiters. 

Draco frowned as he tied the parchment to the leg of a big brown school owl, ready to be sent off in the morning's post as he thought about how turned the tables were. Now _he_, Malfoy, was at the aft of the school pecking order, and people like Weasley were at the helm. And speaking of which, what exactly had been the meaning of Weasley's outburst at dinner the previous night? Why, the only words Draco had spoken to Weasley since the holidays had ended had been "Oh, calm down, Weasel," as Weasley had been trying to wrap his hands around Draco's throat after that unfortunate incident on platform Nine and Three Quarters. He smirked, suddenly, as he closed the cage door on the owl he had just tied a letter to. Just watching Granger and Weasley- Mudblood and Mudblood-lover, really it should have been a perfect match- anyone could see that they were unsuited to each other. Both had ridiculously prominent faults about their person, far too much to create any real sense of harmony in a relationship. To Draco's eye, it was a case of Weasley being smitten and Granger being not smitten enough. But that was fair enough.

"Really, how could anyone fall for a creature like Weasley?" Draco muttered aloud. Even Weasley's imposing height worked against him, as did the freckles, the bright red hair, and the prominent nose. When he walked it was as though he were unused to having limbs, as his spindly arms elbowed this way and that through the crowded corridors. It was too easy to make the idiot flush with anger, and no one really distinguished had ever had red hair. Weasley could have made himself into something piquantly graceful and inspiring if it weren't for his hopeless personal traits and country background. True, he appeared to have filled out a little bit this year and his height didn't look quite so ridiculous in comparison with his gangling extremities, but the fact remained that Weasley was a ridiculous and almost pathetic creature in every respect. The only thing that could make him more pathetic was if he has Longbottom's personality. Draco grinned at the thought as he got his own owl out from its cage next to the window. "Hello, Shakespeare," he crooned, stroking the soft feathers on the eagle owls head. Shakespeare had been a present for his mother, complete with the name.

"What's Shakespeare?" Draco had said, trying to contain his delight as his mother presented him with a cage full of owl a few days before he had started at Hogwarts.

"He was a man."

"A powerful man? I've never heard of him."

"I don't expect you would have."

"Was he rich and famous, mummy?"

"Sometimes," she had answered mysteriously. That had been when Draco was eleven, and his mother was straight at least seventy percent of the time. That was when he would sometimes find her in the kitchen in the middle of the night, whiling away the hours with a bottle of wine and a glass.

__

"What are you doing mummy? Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"Leave me alone, Draco."

"Mother?"

"Just leave mummy alone."

That's what he did, nowadays. Left her alone. It was difficult to get an answer out of her, anyway, and when he went down to the kitchen at night there wouldn't be a glass, just a bottle and a packet of pills next to her trembling hands. 

__

"Headache, mother?" 

"Draco?"

"It's me."

"I'm in a sad mood, Draco. Leave mummy alone."

Once she had taken his hand and bade him sit down next to her. "I saw him, once," she had said, her eyes glossy with drugs and tears.

"Saw who, mother?"

"I saw him killing one."

All the hairs on Draco's neck had stood on end. Her hair was down, floating around her shoulders in an ash-blonde cloud. A few strings hung down on her face, catching in her mouth as she talked. "I saw him killing one," she repeated, in an unbearably tear stricken whisper. "A muggle."

Draco's mouth had gone dry then. He knew what she meant. He just didn't want to believe it. "Who did you see?"

His mother didn't appear to have heard him. Her hand clenched tight around his wrist. "I saw him killing a muggle." With sudden ferocity, she let go of his wrist and slapped both her hands over her face, covering her eyes. "The…mask!" she hissed at him, between her fingers. Then she had started to scream. Draco had been so surprised he had knocked the bottle of wine to the floor, which had only evoked more screams from her. When Draco had cut himself on the glass in an effort to clean it up, she had shuddered and spoke in a harsh whisper. "The blood of the innocent," was all she said. And again. "The blood of the innocent."

A shiver passed through Draco. The Owlery was drafty and his stomach was rumbling. It was time for dinner. Not time for the midnight memories. "What are you doing, you stupid bird?" Draco whispered heavily, as Shakespeare climbed disappointingly readily back into its cage. "If I had wings, I'd be out of that window in a heartbeat."

*

Something awful happened on their first Friday back at Hogwarts: a muggle born was attacked. The story went that Janice Smart, a third year Ravenclaw, lost her wand. In a panic, she ran back to the library after lights out to see if that was where she had left it. In actuality, she hadn't left it anywhere- it had been taken by whoever her attackers happened to be. They (and everyone hoped it was a "they"; for one person being able to do as much damage as they did to her was frankly nauseating) accosted her in the Charms corridor; she was found on Friday morning by Professor Flitwick, unconscious and badly bruised.

Ron had privately made his own conclusions as to why she was attacked (the words "Voldemort's" and "supporters" immediately leapt to mind, closely followed by "bastard scumbag gits"), and they were pretty much the same as the rest of the school's. Janice was a kind girl with few enemies- certainly no one who would want to beat her up- and she was terribly opinionated about the war on Voldemort. In fact, the rumours went it was she who had written that dirty little poem that was circulating the school, and started off "_There once was a house named Slytherin, who we want to blown into oblivion…._"

In Ron's opinion it was all too obvious what was going on, and it made him sick to the stomach. It also made him incredibly wary. "If they- whoever they are- attack a little girl for writing a silly poem, what would they do to someone like Hermione?" Hermione, who was one of Harry Potter's best friends, who everyone knew to be a most powerful witch, who was one of the most outspoken against Voldemort in the school. It was dangerous. But he hadn't ever thought they would be in danger inside the Hogwarts walls. "Stupid of me _not_ to think," Ron muttered. Voldemort was everywhere. Well, he'd just have to remedy that by keeping an eye on her every minute that he possibly can. It wasn't hard; they had almost every lesson together, as well as living in the same tower. He scowled suddenly as he remembered Hermione complaining about Draco Malfoy in Arithmancy- the one subject he didn't have with her. 

His bleak mood was reflected by the sky above his head as he walked away from the Quidditch pitch, having teed up the use of the pitch with Oliver Wood. Dumbledore, sick of broken broomsticks and rogue bludgers, had decided toward the end of their fifth year that the school was in need of a Quidditch coordinator, and had thus wrote to the ex-Gryffindor captain Oliver Wood, knowing that his former student was in need of work. Oliver was delighted, as was the team he played for, Puddlemere United. Hogwarts school provided them with a very decent and free pitch to train on, and they attracted a lot of students during their training sessions. Puddlemere United had even changed their mascot to a winged boar as a tribute to the headmaster's generosity. 

It had been Dean's idea to have a game after lessons. Ron and Harry, tired of playing one-on-one, had been ecstatic at the idea, and Ron had taken it upon himself to go and speak to Oliver. He'd invite the girl to join their game as well- at least that way he could keep an eye on Hermione as well. Like hell he was going to see his girlfriend get hurt. 

Reminded, he shot Draco Malfoy a murderous look as he stomped into the hall, shivering from the cold (he had neglected to take his coat)- but the Slytherin was too busy picking at his Shepherd's pie to even notice. He looked different without Crabbe and Goyle, though- smaller, less intimidating. A stab of pity surprised him suddenly- but he dismissed it as quickly as possible. It didn't do to pity those on the other side. Look at Peter Pettigrew- in a moment of pity, Harry had let him get away. Ron couldn't make the same mistake with Malfoy. 

He spotted Harry and Hermione sitting toward the other end of the Hall, with Dean, Seamus and Lavender. He noted that an empty seat had been reserved to Hermione left, and he shook his head. No one was bigger supporters of him and Hermione than Dean, Seamus and Lavender. It was shame he and Hermione weren't such big fans. "Okay guys," he said, upon reaching them, draping his cloak over the back of Hermione's chair. "I asked Olly, and he says it's okay if we have the pitch for a few hours after dinner."

"Right on!" Dean said.

"The pitch?" Hermione asked, turning to face Ron. He grinned at her, which he would have done involuntarily even he wasn't talking about his favorite subject. She looked beautiful, as she always did, with her hair all frizzy from the morning's shower, a few loose curls playing around her neck. He very much wanted to kiss her. 

"For Quidditch! We were talking in Divination," he said, gesturing to himself, Harry, Dean and Seamus, "and we were thinking that it would be cool if we could play Quidditch for a bit, since training season hasn't started yet, and you and Lav could play too and it would be three a side. Mind you, it took about twenty minutes to convince that prat Oliver. I'm starved."

"Sit down and eat something," Hermione said, returning his grin. Ron felt his appetite subdue a little as she put her hand on his knee. He swallowed hard and turned to lunch. 

"So, will you play, girls?" he said, piling sausages onto his plate.

"I suppose so," said Lavender, wrinkling her nose.

"Definitely," said Hermione. Ron felt lifted immediately, so he turned to her and gave her a big grin. Her heart felt lifted once more as he leaned over and gave her an enthusiastic peck on the cheek. Dean and Seamus "awwww"d, and Ron didn't even mind, he was so looking forward to their game of Quidditch.

"Fantastic, it'll be great. I haven't been able to play Quidditch for ages since Fred and George went to London. Then maybe,' he said, turning once again to Hermione, "we should go to the library and do our homework." But then, her pleased expression changed. Ron's heart froze as her face did. 

"Oh, _no_…" she groaned, putting a hand to her head. 

"What's wrong?" 

"Do you remember on Wednesday I got that letter from professor McGonagall asking me to tutor someone in Transfiguration? Well, our first session is supposed to be tonight, right after dinner."

"Re-schedule it," Ron said immediately. 

"I don't think I can," Hermione said, looking miserable. "I told her I'd do it, and she said to meet the tute at seven thirty sharp outside the library. I promised her, Ron," she added hopelessly.

"Huh," said Ron, feeling awful. Not even her disappointed expression atoned for the fact that she had to go off and tutor some random in a library instead of playing Quidditch with him. How could she even think about it? The only time they had time for fun during the term was at the very beginning, when all they were doing was going over what they learnt last year anyway. There she sat, perfectly calm, dismissing their time together in favour of a favour to Professor McGonagall. He felt himself beginning to droop, but tried desperately not to let it show. 

"Do you know who it is you're supposed to be tutoring, Hermione?" Lavender asked keenly.

"No idea, Professor McGonagall didn't say who- in any case, she said I'm supposed to keep it secret. Sort of a tutor's code," she said with a laugh. "She just said I'd been recommended as an advanced Transfiguration student and would I be able to give a few relaxed tutoring sessions to someone who wants to improve." She was being nothing less than flippant about it! It wouldn't stand. He felt more than hurt- he felt pissed off. And Pissed Off With Hermione was something he hadn't felt for a very long while.

"Recommended, eh?' said Seamus, puffing out his chest like a proud father. "They really don't make them like our Hermione any more, do they?"

"Course not," said Dean fondly, "she's one in a million."

"Or at least one in a thousand," said Hermione, rolling her eyes, "there are _heaps_ of people out there better at Transfigs than me. Well, maybe not heaps," she added with a laugh. Everyone else chuckled appreciatively. Ron forced a smile into his face, lest Hermione of being sulky. Which she tended to do. (But how would she know how he felt? God_dam_it, she was so rude sometimes.)

"You want some more pumpkin juice?" Hermione asked as the others broke into a discussion about the standard of Transfiguration students at other schools.

"Nope."

"Any more food?"

"Nope."

"For heaven's sake, Ron," Hermione snapped suddenly, "you can't get mad at me because I have a prior engagement, it's not my fault!"

Ron blinked at her, startled by her outburst. Then a surge of anger, matching hers pound for pound, positively leapt up his throat. "I didn't say it was," he retorted finally, feeling his face flame, "but pardon me for not being delighted that you can't come!"

"Well, that very sweet of you but if you're angry about it, don't take it out on me!" she snapped back. She glared at him with a set jaw, her eyes blazing, and Ron was hit in the face by a sudden, awful sense of déjà vu. This was reminiscent of a thousand a one fights they might have had at this very table- before they got together. He felt his resolve rapidly deflating as his anger dissipated in a cloud of fear. He had to go, quickly. 

"Fine, I'll go and take it out elsewhere," he said angrily, and shoved back his chair and got to his feet.

"Oh, _nice_," Hermione said, folding her arms as Ron snatched his cloak off the back of her chair. "That's really_ mature, _Ron."

"Well if it's okay with you, I'll just go and be immature _and_ angry somewhere-sodding-else," he threw over his shoulder.

"Fantastic, give us all a break." she muttered. In reply Ron just gave a disparaging "Chuh," and stormed off. No sooner had the door of the Great Hall swung behind him than it opened again and Harry appeared. 

"Okay- what? Did I just see that or am I still hallucinating from Potions this morning?"

"I don't know- I'm not sure it happened myself…" Ron groaned, slumping against the wall. Harry slumped next to him, giving him a kind nudge with his shoulder. 

"Forget about it, you guys'll make it up again. You always have."

"We haven't fought like that in ages," Ron said. Secret fears and insecurities hovered on the edge of his tongue. Should he tell Harry? Should he tell Harry that he was terrified one day Hermione would realise she was way too good for him and just break it off? "I think I might go for a walk."

"Nah," said Harry, "It's started to rain."


	8. Seven

****

CHAPTER SEVEN

__

"In and out, up and down, that's what makes the world go round…."  
**Merlin, THE SWORD AND THE STONE**

*

__

AN: Dammit, I just uploaded the previous chapter and realised there's a bunch of mistakes in it! (For instance, I made a point of saying that Ron had neglected to take his coat, and then when he storms off, it says "taking his coat from the back of Hermione's chair.") Dammit, dammit, buggery bollocks. Anyway, I'm doing my first set of university exams, presently (although I'm not doing an exam right now, obviously, otherwise I'd be slightly failed. And odd-looking.) and it's rather a depressing experience. It reminds me far too much of the Tertiary Entrance Exams last year, and THAT was a bizatch and a half. Anyway, just thought I'd share.   
Meanwhile, I'd like some feedback on my Ron in this story. I have tried as much as possible, to make him a plausible matured version of the Ron we know and love from the canon but I'm not sure how it's going and I want all your deliciously informed opinions, dammit. I find it a lot easier to talk through Hermione, and I thought that since the prequel to this story is mostly Hermione's point of view I'd try and talk through Ron more in this one, but it's so much easier to talk through Hermione. I don't know why, I just find it a lot harder to get a grip on Ron's character- probably because I'm so blindly in love with him. (Now we must all pause to sigh and go "Oh, Ron." Because that's what I'm doing. Oh, Ron.) Anyway, I'll leave you to it. And you must leave me OPINIONS. And your first born child.) Cheerio.

*

Draco was outside the library at seven thirty sharp, as Professor McGonagall had requested. "She's agreed to tutor you," she had told him at the end of his Transfiguration lesson on Wednesday, "and not to worry, she won't say a word to anyone."

"Oh, good. You're, um…sure?"

"She's very trustworthy," the professor had assured him. 

So here he was, waiting for his mysterious trustworthy Transfigs whizz. He whistled tunelessly as he leant against the smooth wooden doorframe, capping and uncapping his quill with his books tucked under his arm. He was in a good mood. Pansy seemed to have given up trying to get his attention by shoving past him in the hallways and glaring at him pointedly, and had chosen the much more mature option of just ignoring him. It was a relief, not just that she was leaving him alone, but to know that she wasn't so immature and fixated on him to continue her childish behaviour. It actually upset him to think that a normal, healthy sixteen-year-old girl could behave like that. "Girls, hah!" he said with a grin, and then looked up and down the corridor to make sure no one had heard him talking to himself.

It used to be that the girls chased Draco. Draco knew he had certain attributes that girls would find attractive. He was rich, his family was well-established, and he knew he was relatively handsome. Sometimes he would look in the mirror and the light would catch his eyes and his chin and Draco would see his father- on those days, he couldn't look at his reflection. Other times the angles of his cheekbones and his delicate ears reminded him of his mother, and he would shiver with fear. And other times he'd look in the mirror and see someone who was neither here, nor there, and had the potential for anything. And on those days, he was Draco Malfoy, Prefect, Quidditch captain, heir to a fortune, resident of the largest country manor in Kent. Things were different now- all his attributes didn't amount to the fact that yes, his father _was_ a Death eater, and yes the Malfoy family _was_ aligned with evil, Black Magick, Voldemort….

"Stay away from that Malfoy in sixth year," the girls would warn their friends. "His family, you know- pure blood, totally anti-Muggle…"

"Oh, yes, I've heard. Is it true that his father's a death Eater?"

"Absolutely. In fact, I heard that _he's_ a death Eater, himself!"

"Wow, stay away from those genes, girls!" And they'd giggle away. Draco disliked gigglers. The type that would while away the hours in front of the mirror upstairs, glossing their lips and painting their nails, talking about boys, boys, boys and how nice it was going to be when all this Voldemort trouble was over. And they would giggle- giggle at a glance from their crush, and the merest brush in the corridors with the shoulders of someone of the opposite sex, hitching up their school skirts in the summer, revealing their lacy garters and squealing indignantly when boys leered at them. They asked for it, but they didn't want it. They talked about it, but they wouldn't dream of doing it. Not until they were _marr-eeed._ Not until they'd found the right guy, the special guy who was going to take care of them for the rest of their life, someone who could see themselves having children with. And oh, what a coincidence, it happened to be that seventh year Ravenclaw who smiled at them in the corridor that time.

The few girls that Draco had actually ever been out with- and indeed, these "relationships" had never lasted terribly long- had been the sort who were fun and flirty. Those who knew what they want- the determined kind. They could be rebellious but pull it off with class. And they had to be beautiful. A large pair of dark eyes and long buttery hair, with slim thighs and straight teeth. They were in control of themselves and their emotions, and they never mistook Draco's intentions for anything other than a few passionate fumbles behind the Quidditch sheds and -once- a rather passionate encounter in the Prefect's bathroom with a girl two years older than him. Oh, he'd been nervous, terribly nervous…but she'd seemed to know what she was doing, and she'd been fun and beautiful. Rainline, had been her name, she was a Slytherin like him, and she was definitely the longest fixation Draco had enjoyed. A Prefect, like him, she had flirted with him for weeks before the bathroom incident at meetings and when working together, eventually making her intentions clear when she pulled him into the restricted section of the library and kissed him. They'd made out in every possible secluded spot in the school, and some places that weren't so secluded, but never really behaved like a boyfriend and girlfriend did- holding hands, long conversations, that sort of thing. 

"It's a pity you're so young," she'd laughed in their final, most passionate encounter in the bathroom as she buttoned up his school shirt. "You could really be someone I'd think seriously about, you know." Draco, too dazed by what they had just done to speak, had only the presence of mind to kiss her. But they'd never enjoyed their passionate fumbles around the school again.

He thought about her often but had no way of contacting her. In any case, he wasn't sure he wanted to. Despite his experience with girls he had never had what anyone would call a serious relationship, despite what Pansy Parkinson claimed.

"Ah, well…" he sighed, looking at his watch, His mysterious tutor was late, more than five minutes so. "Trustworthy?" he said, with a snort.

"Talking to yourself?" came a disdainful jeer to his right. Draco turned his gaze from the ceiling to the person who had spoken- who happened to be Hermione Granger. For a moment he was startled- not just by her presence, but by her…eyes. Her large dark eyes. 

"And why not?" he drawled finally, "I might actually be able to get some intelligent conversation in this school."

Granger rolled her (large, dark, thickly lashed) eyes at him. "Very droll."

"You'd know," he retorted. "So, Granger," he said, trying as hard as possible to make it sound like an insult, "where's your pet giraffe?"

"If you're talking about Ron-"

"Oh, isn't that cute, you gave it a name like it's a real person!" Draco crooned. For a few moments, Hermione stared at him, (large, dark, thickly lashed) eyes ablaze, then threw her books down onto the floor, with a clatter that reverberated around corridor. 

"If you _must_ know, _Malfoy_," she said, furiously, spitting out his name as though it were poison, "I'm supposed to be tutoring someone in Transfiguration here but I'm five minutes late and the bastards have obviously already left; I had a huge fight with Ron at lunchtime and now he's refusing to talk to me; Harry got another death threat in the mail and he knows more than he's letting on which means once again he's shouldering all this worry on his own; I'm just about to start my period; and all I wanted to do tonight was play a game of bloody Quidditch with my friends, and now I can't because I'm supposed to be meeting someone here for a tute and instead I found _you_, and really, if you say one-more-sodding-_word_, I'm going to take out my wand and hex you all the way to Siberia, where you'll hopefully be eaten by a polar bear and then thrown back up into the Atlantic Ocean!" 

Perspiration had broken out on her forehead, strands of hair had come loose from her plait, her face was flushed, her voice hoarse from screaming, and her large dark thickly lashed vibrant eyes were practically on fire. If she had been a fully trained witch, she would most certainly be shooting sparks from those eyes. "Wow," Draco said, without meaning to. 

"What?!" she snapped in a hoarse screech. "One more word, Malfoy, I mean it."

Amazing, the way she could make his name sound as bad an insult as "son of a bitch", or "mudblood". "Well, I think I might have to tell you something."

"Is it about a terminal disease you've contracted? If not, I don't want to-"

"It's me."

"_You're_ a terminal disease? Well, that's not really a surprise I'm afraid-"

"No, I mean the person you're supposed to be tutoring is _me_."

She froze. For a few furious seconds he just opened and shut her mouth, staring at him. "Is this your idea of a joke?"

"Not mine- Professor McGonagall's obviously," Draco said. He was feeling something like dread creep into his stomach lining. He'd _thought _the Professor looked awfully amused when she'd been writing that letter. It must have been to Hermione. Possibly the worst person she could have chosen. McGonagall knew he and Granger couldn't stand each other, and that granger and her Gryffindor friends would rip him apart for wanting to improve in Transfiguration. Hell, they'd rip him apart for breathing in and out.

Granger certainly looked as horrified as he felt. "You went to professor McGonagall- _you_ organised this?"

"Not me," he said, noting the way Granger's right hand had dived into her pocket for her wand, "I _did_ go and ask he for Transfiguration tutes- but if I thought for one moment it would be _you_…" he shook his head. "She obviously finds this very amusing…"

"Well, _I_ don't," came the furious answer. "Do you _realise_ how much _trouble_ you've caused- no," she said suddenly, holding out her hands. She took a deep, steadying breath. "No. _No._ You're not going to bother me, Malfoy. Anyway, to go into how much trouble you cause would take more than a week, seeing as you've _been_ causing trouble since you came out of the womb."

"Well, I'm not especially delighted about this either," Draco said, shifting his books from one arm to the other. 

"I wouldn't have it any other way," she said, with a twisted smile. "If I'm going to have to suffer through this, so are you."

"You mean…" said Draco, taken by surprise for the second time in as many minutes, "you still…want to? Tutor me, I mean?" 

"I might as well, I've already paid for it," she said bitterly. "Come on, then. After you." she added, shoving the library door open.

"No, ladies first-"

"Just get into the bloody library, Malfoy," she said through gritted teeth. Draco started to pass her but stopped, and turned. Suddenly, everything seemed neither here nor there. Where did Granger get off, abusing him in the corridor like that?

"You needn't make my name sound like an insult," he said, coldly.

She laughed, harshly. Draco was brought dizzyingly back to the scene on Platform Nine and Three Quarters. "Draco, where have you been?" she said, "your name _is_ an insult."

*

The next day dawned beautiful. Leaves skidded gently across their path, flashing autumn colours as the sun struggled gently across the sky. The smell of rain was still in the air from the previous night's showers, and the grass underneath the golden trees shimmered gently in the breeze. It was enough to turn any young couple's thoughts to romance. 

But Ron and Hermione walked awkwardly side by side in silence, hardly able to look at each other. Apart from the occasional sideways glance, Hermione kept her gaze fixed firmly ahead, and made no sound except for the occasional sigh. 

Ron felt awful. He had met her in the common room that morning and suggested they go for a walk before breakfast while Harry was meeting with Dumbledore. She had agreed, but things were so tense between them Ron wished she hadn't. It was depressingly uncomfortable, especially since Ron knew it was his fault. After their fight yesterday they had pretty much ignored each other- well, she certainly hadn't appeared to want to talk to him, anyway. He couldn't blame her, either- it wasn't her fault that she wasn't able to play Quidditch with them, and he had no right to take out his frustration on her. Guilt had practically been gnawing away at his insides since their fight last night, and he could hardly bring himself to look at her, let alone apolgise. He had hoped the morning would serve him some sort of inner strength. Which was why he had invited her out on the walk. But that was hopeless as well.

__

Hopeless just about sums me up, Ron thought, furious with himself. He chanced another look at her. She was so beautiful, with her hair loose and free, and her eyes warm and loving despite the awful tense situation. It was a Saturday so school uniforms were not compulsory and she was clad in jeans and a warm red sweater. Her boots rustled softly in the grass next to his own. Ron wanted more than anything to put his arm around her, but it wouldn't be right. He couldn't behave like things were normal- whatever "normal" was for them- when they clearly weren't. Quite simply, Ron felt like an idiot. He had become so preoccupied with was _wrong_ with the relationship, he had been blocking out all the good stuff. 

Like the way her eyes glistened underneath her thick lashes when she looked up at him, the way her hand automatically raised to meet his arm as he put his hand on her shoulder, the better to turn her to face him. The way the wind trailed wisps of hair across her face, and her soft face was freshened by the rain in the air. _Say it_, he willed himself_, tell her. She's got a right to know how you really feel about her._ Sometimes Ron wasn't even sure he could put his feelings into words. Sometimes he couldn't quite wrap his head around the word "love": it seemed a bit little, a bit overused, to describe what he felt for Hermione. 

"Okay," he said, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry. About yesterday…you know?"

She looked at him as though she were waiting for something else. But Ron didn't know what else to say. His throat was stuck. Then she smiled in a way that wasn't quite forgiving and left Ron feeling unsatisfied. "That's okay," she said, softly, "I forgive you." There was an awkward pause.

"Good," said Ron, after a bit. He leant down to hug her, and it was a surprisingly warm and affectionate embrace, considering the awkwardness of their conversation. He held her as tight as possible, trying to gauge how she felt, what she was thinking, did she love him still? Could she ever love him as much as he loved her? "Hermione…" he sighed, into her ear, practically aching with unsaid words. She pulled away to look at his face.

"Yes, Ron?"

And, as usual, he became convulsed with fear. The words dried up in his mouth, his heart began beating like a jackhammer, and his palms started to sweat. He pulled them away so he could stick them in his pockets, feeling gross. Hermione's downcast eyes could hardly be missed though. 

"Ron…" She was breathy and grave when she spoke, and Ron was compelled to look at her again. "This doesn't feel like nothing to me." She turned her velvety eyes up to his. "I was just wondering," she said, very quietly, '"if you felt like it was."

The breath practically froze in Ron's throat. "No!" he blurted out hoarsely. "No, never- how can you- I mean, why did you even _think-"_

"I'm sorry," she said immediately. "No, that was a dumb question…"

"Yeah, it was actually!" Ron cried, feeling colour leap to his face. Something like guilt was bubbling up in his stomach but he wouldn't figure out why until later. So to do something- _anything_- he leant down and kissed her, without taking his hands out of his pockets. Her hands briefly touched his chin, but the kiss was too short for her to do much else.

"Look," he said, when they broke apart and she looked up at him with (beautiful) confused eyes. "Hermione-" and then he said something which was very honest, but would haunt him later on. "Hermione. I think that there's always going to be…_something_ between us. Whether we like it or not."

"You're right…you're right. I'm sorry. I'm being stupid, aren't I?"

"Sometimes, you are," Ron said, with a grin. "But don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

They laughed, and when they walked onwards the air felt a little easier to breathe. But both were holding onto the other's hand tightly as though they were afraid the other was about to walk away. 


	9. Eight

****

CHAPTER EIGHT

__

"Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see. It's getting hard to be someone but it all works out- it doesn't matter much to me. Let me take you down, 'cause I'm going to Strawberry Fields…."

****

"Strawberry Fields", THE BEATLES

"Thank god things are back to normal, eh?"

"Well, with those two- what's normal?"

"Oh don't be cynical, Dean…"

"I'm not being cynical," Thomas said defensively. Finnigan gave a snort, and went on to loudly express his opinion, which was something he did frequently, most of the time regardless of who he was around. "No, you _are_ being cynical," he said obnoxiously, "because _you_- like a lot of people in this school- can't accept the fact that two people like Ron and Hermione, who admittedly fought a _lot_ when they were just friends, can become _more_ than friends, _and_ maintain a harmonious relationship! You know _why_?"

"Why?' said Thomas, sounding amused. Draco was pretty amused himself. He was sure that if Thomas and Finnigan knew that he was on the other side of the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw that they had decided to sit by, they wouldn't have engaged in such a personal conversation. Draco had never eavesdropped on so much gossip in his life. He hated to say it, having never been an endorser of the Hogwarts rumour mill, but it had been a fascinating half an hour, listening to the gossip kings of Gryffindor tower. Especially when their conversation had turned to the relationship between Granger and Weasley. 

"Because you're cynical, Dean Bean," Finnigan answered smugly. "And you don't believe that sometimes tumultuous arguing belies a deep and profound passion for the other person. Ron could very well be a hidden receptacle of fiery passion which can be transposed into romantic activities and into his love for Hermione, which-"

"I've heard enough, shut it, I've heard enough!" Thomas laughed. "That's possibly the biggest pile of crap I've heard spew forth from the reservoir of said crap you keep inside your brain."

"There's that cynicism again!"

"Oh come on, Seamus…" Thomas sighed. "In all seriousness, you must know you're wrong."

"Wrong? _Me_?"

"It's known to happen," Thomas answered with a groan. "I believe you when you say that anger is usually a sign of passion- you're right there; it is. And you only have to look at Ron and Hermione to see that they're crazy about each other. But at the same time…" Another sigh. "Another look shows that they're hardly meant to be in a relationship. At least, not at the moment."

"There's no time like the present!"

"Not for them, Seam…I'm not quite sure what it is, but neither of them are very happy. To tell you the truth, I think it won't be very long before they break up."

"_No_!" Finnigan was scandalised. 

"It's all right, have a cry if you need to, you Nancy."

"Well, sorry if I'm a little bit concerned about the welfare of our Ron and Hermione," Finnigan said sarcastically. "Seriously though, what makes you say that?"

"Well, it's not exactly…I mean, it's not a _balanced_ relationship, and they don't seem to be able to shake off their inhibitions. They act like they're just- friends who hold hands."

"Mmm. It is a bit unbalanced, now that I think of it," Finnigan admitted. "Do you ever get the feeling that Hermione…"

"What?"

"That maybe Hermione…Hermione's a bit more, um, into the whole relationship than Ron is?"

Draco's brow creased. Surely Finnigan meant the other way round? It wasn't possible that Weasley held the power in the relationship, was it?

"Mmm, are you sure?" Thomas said slowly, "Ron can be a pretty quiet kind of guy- I can't imagine him bursting into song about how much he loves Hermione. Maybe she's just a bit more expressive, that's all. I can tell just from looking at Ron that he's crazy in love. I just hope it's with her!"

"Well, they're never going to make it work _that_ way!" said Finnigan indignantly, "I think we should do something, don't you? Like we should-"

"Leave them be?" suggested Thomas.

"But I don't _want_ to…"

"I think we should, especially since they're coming this way." 

Draco looked this way and that. Weasley and Granger were nowhere in sight, but evidently they had just come up from the direction of Hagrid's hut, because their voices now joined Finnigan's and Thomas's.

"Hi boys."

"Hey."

"Hi guys," said Thomas. "I assume you've just bee to see the elusive Hagrid?"

"Yeah. He wasn't there, as usual."

"What did you need him for? Is there some important You-Know-Who gossip you should be sharing with us?"

"Yeah. He's just had his nails done," said Weasley sarcastically. Thomas and Finnigan laughed. "There hasn't been any news lately, since you ask, even though we shouldn't be telling you anyway."

"If anyone asks, I'll lie. I'm not above it." Finnigan said gleefully.

"You're not above a lot of things, shorty." Weasley said. From the tone of his voice Draco could tell he was smirking, and with good reason. Finnigan's short stature was laughable compared to Weasley's, and Draco happened to know that Finnigan was quite sensitive about his height. There was the sound of someone leaping to their feet and then a thump. Weasley laughed. "Owwww!"

"Oh, nice hit Seamus. That blow to his upper-thigh must have really hurt him." Thomas sniggered derisively amid the laughter from the other side of Rowena Ravenclaw.

"Yeah, why don't you bite his ankles? That's his weak spot, you know." Granger giggled.

"Oh, ha _ha_. The peanut gallery's in fine form today."

"This is the part where I'm supposed to make a joke about _Hermione's_ fine form, but I'll refrain, for the sake of Ron." Thomas said. It didn't come as a surprise to Draco that Weasley's laughter abruptly stopped. He was notoriously jealous of Granger's male companions- its was a mystery to Draco that Wealsey had even let her sustain such close ties with Potter. 

"Speaking of Hermione's fine form," said Finnigan, after everyone had stopped laughing, "I expect our game of Qudditch will be devoid of your charming company once again, tonight?"

"Yes," said Granger ruefully, "I have to tutor again, so I can't. But maybe I'll be able to re-schedule it for next week…"

"How much tutoring does this person _need_?" Weasley sounded irritable, and Draco grinned involuntarily. 

"Oh yeah, I forgot to ask! Who is your mystery tutee, Herm?"

Draco's grin faded abruptly. No doubt she would start the barrage of insults, now. _Oh, it's that horrible Malfoy, of course…_ And then they'd all join in. It seemed like the entire school was joining in, lately.

But then she spoke, after a pause, and it wasn't what he was expecting. "Oh…no one. Just a random Slytherin. I don't think you'd know him."

"_Him_?!" Weasley sounded alarmed, this time. "You said it was a girl!"

"D-did I?"

"Yeah, when I asked you how it was, you said, _she_ wasn't that bad."

"Oh…" Draco could picture her face, flushing with embarrassment, and he felt a sick sort of feeling in his stomach. "You must have misheard me, Ron," she said, after another pause, in a stronger voice as though she had regained her nerve. "Anyway, I'm not supposed to tell people who it is, so, you can all stop being so nosy."

"Awwww…" Finnigan sounded disappointed. "I was hoping we could play Twenty Questions."

__

"No, let's go up for dinner," said Granger, in a distinctly irritated voice. "I'm hungry."

Draco rolled into the rose bed immediately as the sound of boots clomping around the statue rustled through the air. He stayed motionless as they all passed him, feeling quite ridiculous, but still not moving until he was sure they had all turned their back on him and started walking up to the castle. Poking his head out of the bushes, he looked up just in time to see Granger throw her arm casually around Weasley's waist. He immediately wrapped both arms around her and dropped a kiss on top of her ridiculous hair. She grinned up at him, and even from the rose bushes Draco could tell that it was a grin of pure adoration.

Funny. They didn't _look_ like a couple that was on the verge of breaking up. 

But Draco was coming to understand something about Granger, and that was that she wasn't quite what he expected. He didn't like to use the old cliché _still waters run deep_ but it was true. Most people picked her as an over achieving know-it-all whose claim to fame was getting top marks every year and being one of Harry Potter's close friends. Despite that she remained fairly well-respected around the school, not just for her renowned academic skills but for her celebrated support of the fight against the Dark Arts. Her status around the school had risen considerably since the end of their fourth year- not only was she a consort of the famous Viktor Krum, but she fought on the right side, and everyone was under the assumption that she had not one, not two, but _three_ very eligible young men lusting after her- Harry Potter, Viktor Krum and Ron Weasley to be precise. The academic standard of Hogwarts had risen with Hermione's popularity, as people started following her example concentrated harder on their studies. This was highly encouraged by the Professors so most of the staff were secretly very grateful to her. 

Weasley's status had risen as well. Arthur Weasley had been directed onto Dumbledore's payroll after he resigned from the Ministry, and after making a wise investment choice in Wealsey's Wizard Wheezes, the Weasley family had entered into a considerably more comfortable lifestyle. They refused to move out of their laughable "house" in Dovershire when Dumbledore offered to put them up in a nice town house in Fullham, the better to be near Fred and George, but the twins had very gladly taken Dumbledore up on his generous offer. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes did booming business and a small branch of the shop was being opened up in Hogsmeade, which had gotten a lot of the students very excited. Furthermore to that, Draco had heard a lot of girls remarking how Ronald Weasley seemed to have "grown into his looks", and his family's prominent alignment with Dumbledore and his ilk could hardly be missed. Weasley appeared to remain unaware of his ascent into the Hogwarts social set, but Draco hadn't missed the ever-increasing amount of girls who stopped to talk to him in the hallways, and the blush that would creep up Weasley's long neck when they made their intentions clear. It was a good thing he and Granger were widely known as the Golden Couple of Gryffindor or he would have been eaten alive by now. 

But the point was that Granger was not all that the rest of the school had picked her to be. She was more than that.

__

Or less, Draco amended, getting to his knees. "Ow!" A thorn dragged its way across his cheek as he rose to his feet, and he awkwardly dragged his way out of the bed of flowers, as thorns clung to his coat and the sleeves of his school shirt. The cut on his face drew blood, but not enough to make him run for help. (It had been a long time since Draco realised the only person who was going to feel sorry for you was yourself. In any case, he didn't want anyone else's pity.) 

As he wiped his face with his sleeve, his mind conjured up a picture of Granger in the throes of anger (or passion, as Finnigan would obviously interpret it) with her face red and sweaty, her teeth bared, her voice ringing out insults in a way you would never expect from someone who could smile in such a friendly way. 

He grinned, suddenly (involuntarily) as he remembered the sudden change her smile had undertaken during her fifth year. One day her teeth had been crooked and ugly, and the next day- straight and clean as if she had never needed that ridiculous metal contraption strapped across them in the first place. He knew how the transformation had taken place, of course- and it had been through a spell that he himself had thrown. In a skirmish in the hallway, he and Potter had thrown curses at each other…unfortunately Granger had gotten in the way. _Or fortunately, as it turned out_. He wondered if Granger realised she owed him. If he had never thrown the (something) curse at her, she never would have been able to get her teeth shrunk down in the first place. (He also wondered if she knew he knew, because the first time he had seen her with her new teeth she had directly shot a rather…um, what was the word…._saucy_ smile at him.) 

That was one thing he wouldn't have expected Granger to do- using magic to change ones appearance was strongly frowned on by the school, and it was usually only the more daring students who dyed their eyes and coloured their hair with magic, such were the dangers. 

But she was a daring girl- that he would admit. Only a really daring girl would leap forward and strike him across the face like she had done to him in third year. (He liked to think so, anyway.) She was certainly powerful with her right strike, in any case. Yet another thing most people wouldn't have expected Hermione Granger to do- go around slapping people. He had never been more surprised, in the few seconds after he had struck him, when the pain was setting in…and the first thing he had thought had been _I can't believe that _Granger_ just slapped me._ He had truly never thought she could be so…explosive.

Her crusade against house elves hadn't been especially surprising- leave it to Granger to fight for the weaklings that didn't need fighting for- nor had her outspoken loyalty to Remus Lupin, after it was revealed to all that he was a werewolf. She always aligned herself with the minority- she actually _did_ fight the good fight, and she fought it well, though Draco couldn't always call that a virtue. (Especially since he had picked the losing side….) She was stubborn and bossy and opinionated- although her admirers could just as easily translate that into determined, assertive and confident. And she did have admirers. Especially since the Yule Ball…

Oh God, the Ball. One thing Draco would never- could never- admit to was how at the Ball her beauty hadn't completely taken him by surprise. Though her butterfly-like transformation had taken him by the shoulders and given him a hard shake, he couldn't say that he was totally shocked. As much as he despised the girl, he could admit when someone was attractive. And while he had never looked at her and considered her face anything but plain, she had a _fine form_ (as Thomas might call it) and- since that skirmish in front of Potions class- a nice smile. At the ball she had looked stunning. And stunning was the word. Most people had looked at her with unflattering disbelief- quite a few hadn't recognised her. They hadn't even thought that the beautiful girl in periwinkle blue on the arm of a famous Quidditch star was Hermione Granger, the bookish fourth year Gryffindor who knew more than most seventh years. No, her beauty hadn't surprised him, but her attitude about it had. Wouldn't the class boff usually revel in the attention that her, until now, hidden beauty would bring? No, not at all. She seemed to behave as though nothing was out of the ordinary- in fact, she and Weasley had even had one of their quintessential tiffs. As though it weren't out of the ordinary for her to have the eye of every boy in the school, or to be consorting with famous Quidditch stars- or to have Draco Malfoy, who had always hated her, looking at her and thinking, "Why, how beautiful." Because that had indeed be what he had thought. She had even had the ignobility to wink at him during the Champions dance- as Viktor had revolved her past the Slytherin table she had looked past his shoulder, noticed him staring, and shot him a wink. It was almost flirty of her, really. 

And now she had lied. Not just to her friends, but to her boyfriend. The pious, ethical, fight-the-good-fight Miss Hermione Granger had told a lie to her boyfriend. Apparently she didn't want Weasley to know that the Slytherin she tutored on Friday nights was he- Draco Malfoy. And Draco couldn't blame her, knowing as he did that Weasley was an extremely jealous kind of person and would object highly to his girlfriend hanging around in the library for hours at a time with the person he had hated most since starting at Hogwarts. Draco had no doubt that if- or when- Weasley found out he would be furious. So furious, in fact, he would probably break up with her. Surely Granger would know that? And if she was so very into the relationship as Finnigan and Thomas claimed, why would she risk it in such a way?

Why was she risking it just for his sake? 


	10. Nine

****

CHAPTER NINE

__

"Cause the lady is a vamp, she's a vixen not a tramp, she's a da-da-da-da-da-da-da! Come on fellas, place your bets, 'cause you ain't seen nothin' yet, she's the top of the tops, she's the best- yes!"

****

"The Lady is a Vamp", THE SPICE GIRLS

"Is this seat taken?" drawled his all-too-familiar voice. 

"Just sit down and shut up, Malfoy, I want to get through a lot today," Hermione answered irritably. She wasn't in the best of moods. She had told Ron she needed more sleep, but she was pretty sure it had little to do with lack of sleep, and a lot to do with The Lie. Guilt was hardly a strong enough word to describe how she felt. 

Malfoy pulled his chair closer to hers and sat down silently, depositing his books on the table as he did so. His shoulder brushed hers, and she leaned away at once. "Can we get started, please?" she said, disliking the formidable McGonagall-like tone to her voice but not caring all the same. After all, it was only Malfoy. She didn't care at all what he thought. It was Ron's opinion of her she was worried about. _Oh god, when he founds out I've lied…._

Malfoy's presence next to her reminded Hermione of his involvement in The Lie, and she turned to glare at him. He looked back at her blankly.

"Whatever's the matter?"

"Your existence, for a start," she snapped. Far from the reaction she had wanted to elicit, he grinned. This baffled her. No matter what she said to him lately, he just refused to react the way he _should_ have- with anger. In fact, since recently his response was almost always the opposite of what was normal- he usually seemed delighted.

"Now that's not very nice," he grinned.

"A lot like your face," she tried, hoping a direct insult to his appearance would be enough to derive a nasty reaction. To her chagrin, he just smiled a bit more. Hermione slammed a quill down on the table, more than a little bit annoyed. 

"Write down the steps for a Switching spell, please," she snapped. "Let's see if you can remember what we went over last week."

"Reichstag or Reichstrat?"

"Reichstag, of course," Hermione sneered. Malfoy shrugged, picked up the quill and began to scratch down the steps to a Reichstag switching spell- one of the most advanced Switching Spells in Germanic derived Transfiguration. Hermione rested her head in her arms while she waited for him to finish and closed her eyes. Everytime she did that, though, she saw Ron's bewildered face in front of the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw. _Him? You said it was a girl!_

She had purposely let Ron think it was a girl rather than a boy. She would _never_ admit it to him, but something Draco had said had gotten to her. _Face it Granger, Weasley just doesn't like other boys so much as looking at you. _Of course it hadn't escaped her notice that Ron was more than a little bit protective of her when it came to other boys. He wasn't averse to her hanging around with boys like Dean and Seamus and Harry because he trusted them. But if Ron knew that she was spending up to two hours a time alone in the library with Draco Malfoy, of all people, he'd blow a fuse. The relationship was too fragile at the moment for her to dare upset it. Since their argument last Friday, something had changed. Neither of them had said anything but they both knew it- unfortunately, when they wanted to, both were quite good at not saying anything. She couldn't pretend she wanted to leap into an in-depth discussion with Ron, but she thought that maybe they had to, because that was how couples usually fixed invisible problems. Which was what they were. A couple. (Weren't they?)

Anyway, the point was that she had _lied_, to Ron, who she trusted above everything, and who trusted her above everything. Even if they weren't a couple (?) she still shouldn't have lied. Because in the back of all the hugging and the holding hands and the "lover's tiffs" and the kisses, they were still best friends. And best friends simply did not lie to each other.

But maybe couples did.

"I'm done," Malfoy said, snapping his fingers in front of her face. Hermione's eyes flew open to find the parchment in front of her. All the steps for a Reichstag switching spell were written down in perfect order and coherency, in his slanted, elegant handwriting.

"That's right," she mumbled, shoving the offending parchment aside. "Okay, well if you remember what we did last week, is there anything you want to particularly study this week?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Whatever floats your boat."

"Whatever…floats my boat." Hermione repeated, raising her eyebrows. "Well, these sessions aren't for _me_, you know. I'd much rather be doing _anything _than sitting here with you. This was your idea, so _you_ need to decide." She said it with more poison in her voice than she'd intended, but she didn't care. It _was_ only Malfoy, after all, and not only had he played a part in The Lie, but he had indirectly been the cause of the argument which had made things between her and Ron so stale in the first place. Malfoy was looking at her with a grave expression.

"You really hate me that much, don't you?"

"I do," said Hermione, after a moment's hesitation. The question had taken her by surprise, but there was no reason why he shouldn't get an honest answer. "Does that surprise you?" she added incredulously, taken in by the expression on his face, which was one of quiet consternation.

"Of course not," he rejoined scornfully. "If there's one thing you are, Granger, it's obvious. You expose your feelings and your opinions to the scrutiny of the entire world."

Hermione had to swallow before answering, to stop herself snapping at him and proving him right. "Do I just?" she asked, wondering if he noticed her voice was shaky.

Apparently he had. "You're bothered again." His smirk was infuriating. 

"Bothered enough, this time, I think," she said, straining, now, to keep herself from shouting. "Malfoy, I'm going to give you three seconds to get your things and leave, otherwise I'm going to get out my wand and hex you, with or without being booted from the library by Madame Pince."

"But we've only had about fifteen minutes of our session."

"I don't care, fifteen minutes of you is enough to last me the rest of my life."

"Be that as it may, Granger, if I'm going to be paying you, I do expect full service."

Hermione was stunned. "Paying me? You actually think for one moment I'm going to accept money from _you_? You think I _want_ to be on your filthy payroll?"

"Well if you don't want money what do you want? Why are you here?" he snapped. 

Hermione couldn't speak. Last week she had only stayed for the sake of it- she was in the depths of despair, and while Malfoy hadn't been overly sympathetic, he had been silent and complying throughout the entire two hours. She had had the tutoring session to distract her from problems with Ron, and she got a chance to go over Switching spells herself- so really, it was all beneficial. But this time, she had come at her own expense- lied to Ron, missed a second game of Quidditch. It was like she had actually put in effort for it. Not only that, she had caught herself in the middle of the Tranfigs lesson that morning, thinking _I could ask Draco that question, that'd really stump him…_

"I'm an idiot," she said, shaking her head, "and you, for once, are right." She started collecting her things. "What am I _doing_…?"

She started marching away, but she had not gone more than four yards from the table when Malfoy said something that made her freeze.

"Hermione, don't."

An astounded beat. "Wh-_what_ did you say?"

He was suddenly by her side. "Um…" he said, running a hand through his hair. "I said…Hermione don't."

"Don't _what_?" she whispered.

"Don't, um…" His voice had dropped to a whisper as well. He sighed. "Don't leave."

She wanted to ask why. She wanted to laugh in his face. Se wanted to be able to turn on her heel and go. But she didn't. She just…couldn't.

Something in those iceberg eyes caught her by the throat- and it wasn;t something evil, it wasn;t something terrible and sadistic- it was something she never expected to be able to see in those eyes. It was vulnerability. It was pity itself. Hermione wondered if she had hurt his feelings, and then she reminded herself that to hurt someone's feelings they had to be in possession of a heart- which Draco Malfoy had proved he wasn't, time and again. (Or was he?)And the fact that Draco could be vulnerable, could be almost human, was possibly what prompted her to silently follow him back to the table, and unpack her things. Neither of them said anything.

"So, anyway," Malfoy said after an awkward silence in which she felt him staring at her, "I understood Reichstag perfectly, but it was the Reichstrat derivative I actually had problems with. I went over it earlier in the week…"

He handed her a piece of parchment, upon which there were many scribblings and equations and familiar diagrams. Hermione studied it for a bit. "Well, the problem here is that you're still using the basic Reichstrat equation to use up the remainder. What you need to do with the _derivative _is to Follow Your Heart." 

He stared at her. "Follow your heart," he repeated, with a small smile.

Hermione explained. "I made it up to remember it. It stands for _Fungstracht yund Hein_." She smiled as recognition dawned on Malfoy's face. He nodded, the tiny smile blossoming. 

"The Germanic incantation." He gave a little laugh. "Follow Your Heart."

"Right! That's the secret to the Germanic Switching Spells. You think of the basic incantations we learn back in fourth year."

"I remember. That's a good way of remembering it, though a little more romantic than I would have expected from you."

To her own surprise, Hermione didn't feel irritated at all. Instead, she asked him a valid question. "And what would you know about me?"

Malfoy paused. "I don't know. Not much, I would suppose. You just don't strike me as a particularly romantic person, that's all. I could be wrong, of course."

"It's been known to happen," Hermione said, smirking. "Well, you're right, anyway. I'm _not_ a very romantic person, I suppose."

"Every girl who actually _is_ a romantic says that," Malfoy said triumphantly. 

"And you know this from experience, do you?" she asked. 

"Chalk it up to commonsense," he shrugged. "I know where they're coming from."

"Oh, you _do_?" Hermione said incredulously. "Don't tell me that _you're_ a romantic?"

Malfoy laughed, suddenly. "Oh, yes. Incurably so."

This struck Hermione as very funny, and before she could stop herself a merry peal of laughter had leapt out of her throat. She clapped a hand to her mouth, which made Draco smile.

"You're not scared of me are you?"

"_No_," she said vehemently (although truth be told she had always been a tiny little bit scared of Lucius Malfoy, and sometimes Draco's eyes would gleam in a way that was scarily like his father's. They weren't gleaming like that then, though- they were merry in a way that Hermione had never seen before.)

"Then why won't you laugh at my joke?"

"It's not funny."

"Yes it is."

"It's not- and nor are you. You're horrible Draco Malfoy, remember?"

When she said that she wished she hadn't. And that was before his expression changed from his usual smirk to a mirthless smile. "That wasn't very nice." Draco said levelly, after a large awkward silence.

"Sorry."

"You're forgiven," was the immediate reply. "As long as you admit I'm funny."

She grinned. "You're…funny." It was kind of funny- the fact that she was sitting down having a civil conversation with Draco _Malfoy_, of all people…

"Now what are you laughing at?" he said, as Hermione began to giggle. His consternation struck her as even more amusing.

"You. You're funny," she chuckled. 

"Funny haha or funny weird?" 

"Both!"

And the fact that it was so weird was even more funny. Soon the two of them were gasping away, struggling for breath as they laughed. It was infectious. Hermione had never seen Draco laugh before- at least, not laughing like he was then. It wasn't directed at anyone or at someone else's expense. This was just laughing for the pure fun of it- and it was something Hermione hadn't done for a long time. 

Suddenly a hand clapped down on Hermione's shoulder and squeezed. She actually gave a small shriek and then turned, her face flushing, to see Harry standing there, his expression middling between concern and anger. Hermione was mortified.

"What's going on here?" he snapped, gripping Hermione under the arm and dragging her up from her seat. "Leave her alone, Malfoy."

"Hail the conquering hero," was all Malfoy said in a sarcastic drawl. Harry leapt in front of Hermione and drew his wand in the same second. Malfoy just grinned, which only served to drive Harry to infuriation. 

"Right that's it- if you're not out of here and the hell away from her in three seconds, I'm going to fire," he threatened. "And you'd better continue staying the hell away from her if you know what's good for you." 

"Harry, wait-"

"One!" he snapped, ignoring her. Now Malfoy had drawn his own wand, and the grin was gone. He had assumed a blank expression as he got to his feet, the picture of level-headedness. "Two!" Harry said. Hermione clutched his arm.

'You don't understand…" she pleaded.

"Three! Right, you asked for it."

"No!" Hermione said, grabbing his hand and flipping his wrist upwards. So surprised was Harry that he dropped his wand to the floor. Malfoy lowered his arm. Harry turned to look at her, bewildered. "What?" he demanded.

"Can I please talk to you?" she said, dragging him behind a large shelf of fat History books. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Malfoy calmly take his seat and pick up a quill as though nothing had happened. Harry was still bewildered.

"What on earth is going on? Did he do anything to you? Are you okay-"

"Please, I'm perfectly fine," Hermione said irritably. "There's no need to rush into things like that, Harry- you had it completely wrong." _If anything_, she told herself, _I'm the one who's being awful to Draco. Calling him horrible like that…_

"Huh?" Harry said, by now, thoroughly confused. Hermione took a deep breath. She couldn't keep on lying now.

"Draco's my…tute."

"You _what_?" Harry said, alarmed. "You've got to be pulling my tail…" Hermione shook her head, and felt her stomach constrict at the disgusted look on Harry's face. "Aw- look, leave it to me, I'll get Dumbledore to overrule McGonagall's decision. It's got to be some kind of sick joke." His fists clenched. "What the hell does he think he's doing, asking to be tutored by you like that? Bloody hell he's got nerve."

"Harry-" Hermione put a hand on his arm and gave him a little shake. He looked down at her. "Draco never asked to be tutored by me. He's just as unhappy about it as I am. It was Professor McGonagall's idea to put us both together like this."

"Then what- well, _why_ are you still doing it?" He was looking at her like she was crazy. Hermione _felt_ crazy.

"I don't know," she answered with a shaky laugh. "I think it's because- he wants to do it so much."

"Hermione!" Harry cried. "Don't you know who that is? Draco Malfoy, son of the most prominent Death Eater this side of the Scottish border- and the other side. You're _willingly_ spending time with him?" he slapped himself on the forehead. "That's the stupidest thing you have ever done- and that says more than you think. I'm really surprised at you!"

Hermione felt her bad temper flaring. "What, surprised that I'm helping someone who clearly needs it?"

"Well what _do_ you think he wants, hm?" said Harry sarcastically. "Every idiot in this school knows that you're fighting Voldemort. Plus, it's no secret that you happen to know pretty much everything that goes through Dumbledore that goes through Sirius that goes through me. You've got some of the most important information our side knows, inside your pretty little head. Then we have Draco _asking_ for tutelage from our side…"

"He didn't ask for me specifically, Harry," Hermione cried. "He really didn't know I was going to be the one. But it just happened. And all he _wants_ is Transfiguration tutelage."

"Yeah, sure."

"Harry," Hermione said, marvelling at how she had managed to keep her head. Something in her tone obviously prompted Harry to stop his diatribe. "This is innocent," she said, pointing over to the table where Draco sat, waiting. "He doesn't want anything from me apart from Transfiguration tutelage. Come on. You know him. Why on earth would he appeal to a Muggle born if he wanted information? You know he thinks I'm lower than dirt." _Or does he?_ she wondered, thinking of the _"Hermione, don't."_

But Harry's mind had been turned. "Okay," he sighed slowly. "Whatever you think, Hermione. I trust you enough not to let anything slip. But it's dangerous, you know, he could slip you a truth serum or hex you or anything while you're in here, and…" he stopped, looking at her face. "Okay," he said again, after a pause. "All right. But maybe it would be a good idea if Ron and I started hanging around here on Friday nights, just in case-"

"No!" Hermione cried, before she could stop herself. Blood rushed to her face immediately. Her eyes felt a bit watery, as they often did when she was feeling so guilty. "Harry- you can't tell Ron. He doesn't know and I've, um…led him to believe it's no one he knows."

"You _lied_ to him?"

"No! Um…yes, I…." she sighed. "Yes, I suppose I did. But please," she pleaded, "You know what his reaction would be like- there's just no point in going through all of that when this is innocent, really!" 

Harry opened his mouth to say something, then stopped and considered what she was saying. Finally he sighed again. "All right," he said wearily. "He won't hear it from me. But I think you should tell him."

"I will- oh Harry, thank you," she said, almost tearful with relief. She grabbed him in a tight hug, and he obligingly gave her a bit of a squeeze. "I'll tell him soon, I promise."

"What's to tell?" he said, with a crooked smile. "Like you said, it's all innocent."


	11. Ten

****

CHAPTER TEN

__

"Though I've tried before to tell her of the feelings I have for her in my heart, every time that I come near her I just lose my nerve- as I've done from the start… Every little thing she does is magic Everything she do just turns me on Even though my life before was tragic Now I know my love for her goes on…"  
**"Every Little Thing She Does is Magic", STING**

The following Thursday was Hermione's birthday, September nineteenth, and the day didn't start ideally. Mainly because it started with Seamus leaping onto her stomach at six thirty that morning and knocking the breath out of her.

"_Ooof!_"

"HAPPY BIRTHDAAAAAAAY!" 

"EEEEK!" Needless to say, although Seamus had a very pleasant face, it was not something you wanted to open your eyes and find about two centimeters away from yours. "Seamus!"

"'Tis meee!" he cried exultantly.

"No kidding," Hermione gasped, sitting up at once. Seamus fell off her bed onto the floor, giggling insanely. Before Hermione could regain her senses, Harry and Dean had grabbed her from either side and planted a kiss on each of her cheeks. 

"Happy birthday!" Harry cried, hugging her around the shoulders.

"And many happy returns," Dean added, giving her another peck.

"Thank you," Hermione croaked, her breath still not quite recovered. But she grinned anyway, feeling warm and tingly in her stomach. All three of the boys were grinning at her happily, and Hermione suddenly felt embarrassed. "I'm in my pyjamas- and I must look awful- let me go to the bathroom, and-" But the next thing she knew Ginny had strolled in from the staircase bearing an armload of presents.

'What's going on?" croaked an early-morning Parvati Patil. Everyone ignored her and concentrated on giving Hermione their presents.

"This is from me," Lavender said proudly, handing Hermione a large green parcel. It turned out to be Narcisio Nebalt's Complete Hair and Make Up Kit for the Stunning Young Witch. A picture of the famous Italian wizard make up artist winked up at her from the plastic covering, protecting the soft green leather casing.

"Thank you Lavender, it's wonderful," Hermione said, unable to keep the note of exasperation out of her voice. Lavender was always at her to experiment more with makeup- once even going so far as to get Seamus to pin Hermione down while Lavender applied mascara to Hermione's eyelashes. Lavender just laughed, clearly delighted with Hermione's reaction.

"Now you won't have an excuse. I'll do your make up for you this morning- you've got to look really gorgeous for your birthday." Lavender crowed.

"Hermione looks gorgeous every day," Dean insisted loyally, handing Hermione a much less flashy package. It was square and flat, and as Hermione pulled off the brown paper she gave a cry of delight. It was a black and white painting of Crookshanks the cat sitting on one of the armchairs in the common room. As Hermione gazed at it rapturously, the painted likeness of Crookshanks pawed the tassel hanging off the left arm of the chair. "Oh Dean, it's beautiful! You figured out how to do that charm on your paints, then?"

"Yep," Dean said proudly, "the other day. I just wanted it to be a surprise."

"It's wonderful!" She gave him another tight hug, which Seamus interrupted by nearly clocking Hermione over the head with his gift to her. "Open mine," he demanded, starting to untie the ribbon for her. Hermione had to laugh- it was a large, ridiculous looking stuffed dog- purple with red spots- and the name "NELLY" imprinted in large red letters on the tag around its neck.

"Only one of it's kind," he explained proudly. "I got it when I went to London- one of Fred and George's ideas."

Everyone cleared away from the bed at once, and Hermione dropped Nelly as though it were about to explode. "No!" Seamus said impatiently. "Look inside its mouth." Hermione did, and grinned: Nelly was filled to the brim with a number of sweets, all jumbled together. 

"And if you don't start eating 'em, Nelly will start to duplicate them until they spill out the mouth and fill the room," Seamus explained. "Fred and George thought it would be a good gift for dieters."

Everyone laughed, and then Ginny presented Hermione with a large square item wrapped in red paper- the complete illustrated works of Jane Austen. "You told me she was your favorite author, once," Ginny said shyly, "and I charmed the pictures inside, see?" Hermione did see- each perfect painting of Austen's characters was alive in the manner of a wizard portrait. Hermione hugged Ginny warmly, touched deeply by the present. 

Harry then held forward his gift- a flat, red velvet box. Inside was a fine gold chain- on the end of which was a small golden quill, in perfect detail. "Harry…" Hermione breathed, staring at it. "It's so gorgeous!"

"Press the clasp, see what happens," Harry urged, and when she did the quill started to grow, until it was normal sized- in perfect golden detail. Hermione was captivated. 

"Oh my _gosh_…" she cried, throwing her arms around Harry neck and hugging him until it must have hurt. Harry giggled into her ear.

"Glad you like it, then."

Hermione broke away, feeling a bit teary. She loved her friends so much- they were all so good and kind and generous and- "Wait a moment…where's Ron?"

Everyone exchanged glances. "He'll be up in a second," Harry said, after a pause. Hermione was surprised when she felt nothing- usually a loaded pause like that would have at least made her feel worried, or excited. But she just didn't care. _I'm so sick of his weird behaviour_, she decided, piling her presents on her bedside table in order for her to get to her feet. _If he wants to act like a prat on my own birthday, that's his problem. Everyone else wants to have fun. Including me._

Lavender, Ginny and Hermione cleared the boys out so that they could get ready (Parvati Patil had long ago departed after dressing sulkily in the bathroom). After some argument, Lavender finally convinced Hermione to at least let Lavender do her hair with Sleakezy's Hair Solution, so that she had long soft waves rather than her usual tight plait. 

"It's so beautiful like this!" Lavender groaned, fluffing Hermione's mane. "You should do it like this every day,"

"Once is enough for me- that took nearly half an hour," Hermione pointed out, though secretly she was pleased with the result. _It really does make an improvement_, she admitted to herself, as she tilted her head in the mirror. But Lavender and Ginny refused to go downstairs until they had done a little bit to Hermione's face. Hermione relented after about twenty minutes of coaxing (during which she got dressed into her school uniform) and by the time she and the other girls descended the staircase into the common room Hermione's lips had been glossed and her eyelashes coated lightly with mascara. She felt uncomfortable, as she always did when wearing make up, but she felt gratified when Dean, Seamus and Harry, who were waiting at the bottom of the staircase, gave her an admiring round of applause that made the few other students in the common room turn their heads. Hermione blushed horribly as she took Harry's arm.

"Every girl should have an entourage on her sixteenth birthday," announced Dean, as he handed her a bunch of long-stemmed red roses. "Now, let's go down to a real birthday breakfast."

"Where's Ron?" demanded Lavender, as they got to the portrait hole. Her question was immediately answered when the portrait door flew open and smacked her in the face. "Owch!"

"Oh no, Lavender- Ron!" Hermione cried, pausing as she bent down to help Lavender up. Ron was staring at Hermione in amazement, then he bit his lip sheepishly and leapt down to help Lavender up.

"Jesus, I'm sorry," he said furtively, "Are you okay? Sorry…"

"S'all right," Lavender said, glaring at him. "You didn't get me that hard, I was just surprised."

Hermione wasn't about to let him off so easily though, "For goodness sake Ron, why can't you be more careful?" she snapped. "That was so idiotic."

Ron blinked at her in surprise. So did everyone else. "Er…sorry Hermione. But Lavender's okay, aren't you Lav?" He looked up at Hermione again, his expression still shocked.

"I'm fine, Hermione," Lavender said patiently, rubbing her nose. Hermione just shook her head, rolling her eyes at Ron. His forehead creased, but she didn't care. 

"Right, anyway," he said, bending down to pick up something else from the floor, "Happy Birthday."

"You missed the opening statement," Hermione said sourly, as he handed her- a bouquet of purple roses. He had clearly put a lot of work into them- Ron had never been all that good at conjuring up flowers- but they were messily done all the same, not at all like Dean's careful work, and Hermione felt further exasperated. "Thanks," she said. 

"Oh…" he said, noticing the red flowers she was already holding. There was an embarrassed silence from the group. Ron's face had gone red when he noticed that Hermione was arm in arm with Harry. 

"Never mind!" Seamus burst in joyfully, "Two bunches o' flowers for a girl who's twice as beautiful as the rest!" 

"That's right," put in Dean quickly. Ron gave her a beautiful sheepish grin, and Hermione's heart melted a bit. She almost felt…sorry for him. 

"Let's go and get breakfast," she said, linking her free arm with Ron's. Seamus and Dean took a bunch of roses each, and they all set off downstairs, Seamus and Dean desperately making up for the embarrassing episode in the common room by being completely weird and making strange jokes. Hermione was glad for their effort, but Ron's presence burnt like a piece of grit in her eye. Why didn't he come up like the rest of her friends? Why wasn't he ever just _normal_ anymore? For the first time in a long while, Hermione was entertaining thought of really ripping into him- like they used to be able to do in the old days, before they started going out, when they could easily argue half an hour away without hurting each other's feelings or analyzing every single thing the other said an trying to best each other-

__

Oh God, Hermione realised, as Seamus kicked open the doors of the Great Hall_, oh my god. But it's always been that way, hasn't it? It's always hurt just as much, and I've always analysed everything he said to me, and I've always tried to best him. Things really aren't any different from before- they really aren't. Ron hasn't changed, and I haven't changed, and- oh, my god…_

"Are you all right?" Seamus said, breaking the introverted silence of her epiphany. Hermione shook herself back to reality- but it was a very different reality from before. A realer reality. "Listen, I'll be back in a second- you can start breakfast without me…" And he rushed off, toward the opposite end of the hall. 

Hermione followed the others in silence, aware that Ron's hand in hers wasn't eliciting any reaction whatsoever. _I was right, then_, she concluded miserably. Absently, she stared over at the Slytherin table, and spotted a familiar blonde head bent over his breakfast: Draco. Hermione considered him as Ron made her a cup of tea. She wasn't entirely right, come to think of it- things _had_ changed, Draco Malfoy being one of them. He seemed to be so different, so _removed_ from the Draco she was used to. There was something undeniably human and something piquantly…attractive (?) about the boy that fascinated her. Mind you, he had always been mildly fascinating- how could one person be so nasty? But this was a different kind of intrigue- and one Hermione was slightly scared of. 

Ron tweaked her out of her reverie by tugging gently on one of her curls. "What are you looking for over there?" he said teasingly.

"Nothing," said Hermione, managing a smile. A small pile of birthday cards and letters had already been left at her place, and as Ron and Harry loaded her plate with toast and eggs and bacon, six more owls swooped down, leaving their messages, and, in one case, a large parcel from her parents. It contained the same thing it usually did- clothes from Paris, perfume from Paris- Hermione's mother loved France. In addition her father had sent a gorgeous leather bound writing set complete with a elegant fountain pen, engraved with her full name, which Hermione found quite touching. 

"_Hermione Charlotte Duerre Granger_," Ron read aloud, when she showed the end to him. "I never knew you had middle names."

"I never tell anyone I have middle names. I think they sound…pretentious." 

"I think it's pretty," said Ron, with another grin at her, and Hermione realised he'd chosen the worst of times to be attentive and nice and _relationshippy_. Her epiphany only minutes earlier had left its engraving on her heart: something doubtful and scary which changed things. She felt like she had stripped something down, somehow, like cutting the skin off an orange, or ripping the bark off a tree. _Friends who just hold hands…_ Hermione thought, looking up at Ron; that boy, that marvelous boy who had seemingly turned her world upside down just seven or so months ago. The question was not so much _what_ happened, as how did this happen _in the first place_? 

"Um," said Ron…"Um. You look really nice today." And he blushed as he gave her a kiss on the cheek. 

"Thanks, Ron," Hermione said, feeling worse than ever. (What was going on here, anyway?)

"Oh, by the way," Ron continued, smiling, looking proud of himself, "about your-"

But Seamus, who materialised behind them and cleared his throat, loudly, interrupted him. Next thing Hermione knew she was being serenaded by a large group of house elves in four part harmonies. "_Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Miss Hermione, happy birthday to you…For she is being a jolly good fellow, for she is being a jolly good fellow, for she is being a jolly good fe-hell-oooww! And so is saying all of uss-es."_

Evidently, all that time Seamus had been spending in the kitchen lately was for a reason. When the house elves had finished their own rendition of _Every Little Thing She Does is Magic_, to the delight of the entire school, everyone clapped and Seamus took a bow, waving the bread knife he had been conducting the choir with in an elaborate twirl. The house elves toddled back to the kitchen, pleased with their brush with fame. Dobby, one of the stronger tenors, darted forward to present Hermione with a lumpy package, which predictably, contained socks- one was white with purple stripes, the other was purple with white stars. "They're lovely, Dobby, thank you," she said, giving his bald brown head a kiss. He squeaked with pleasure and then launched into a monologue about his holidays, which Harry and Ron both listened to raptly. 

Ron grinned at her, finally feeling her gaze, and squeezed her knee under the table. _Why does he burn hot and cold like this, all the bloody time?_ thought Hermione, sighing as she picked at her breakfast, feeling too confused to eat. A glimmer on her school tie distracted her momentarily- it was the quill necklace she had gotten from Harry that morning. Seeing her gift reminded her of something: Ron hadn't gotten her a present. She felt guilty for the irrational feeling of annoyance that swelled up. _He doesn't have that much money after all, and…_

But Dean's present hadn't cost anything- he'd made it himself. Why couldn't Ron enact the same initiative? All of the presents she'd gotten from her friends had been given to her with a lot of thought and love- ridiculously, her own boyfriend had gotten her something that anyone could have thought of for a girl's birthday present. A bunch of faultily made flowers? Please! It was the most ridiculous….

"Miss Granger?"

She jumped. The headmaster was standing right behind her, twinkling down at her with those blue eyes. "Oh- h-hello Professor Dumbledore." She wondered for a second if he was going to tell her off for creating a disturbance- after all, the house elves had been trained for her- but all he wanted was to wish her a happy birthday.

"Many Happy returns, my dear," he said, waving his wand, and conjuring up yet another bouquet of roses- blue ones, this time. "Not the most original of gifts, if you'll forgive me…"

"Not at all, they're beautiful," Hermione said sincerely, noting the tiny silver stars lining each petal of each rose. "Thank you very much, Professor."

"And you deserve more," Dumbledore answered. "But for now, if you would accompany me up to my office, I have a better surprise for you up there."

Hermione obediently got to her feet, noting that Ron looked reluctant to let go of her hand- which she liked. But within moments of her walking away from the Gryffindor table, he was deep in conversation with Harry. _So much for thinking about me all the time,_ Hermione thought wryly, as she followed Dumbledore along the corridor, _he hardly even notices me when I'm sitting next to him._

But she was glad for it after all, because when Dumbledore left her at the door of his office, her heart filled with joy to see who was sitting inside. "Professor Lupin!"

"Hello, love," he said, getting to his feet immediately. She was greeted with a big warm hug- which reminded Hermione that Ron hadn't even given her a birthday hug yet- and yet another birthday peck on the cheek. Lupin looked much healthier than he had the last time she had seen him, which had been at the beginning of June when the holidays started. His appearance remained slightly scruffy, but, as she knew, he had been in the wilds of Scotland for the past month or two with Bill and Charlie Weasley and a few others on Dumbledore's side going through their core Auror training. It had taken all of Lupin's coaxing power to make Harry stay at home with the Dursleys rather than follow him into the mountains.

"It's good that he's back at Hogwarts," Lupin said in his hoarse, quiet voice, after they'd talked for a bit.

"It is good," Hermione agreed, "now we know he's safe."

Lupin fixed her with a stern look. "Harry's not the only one who's in direct danger, you know. I'm afraid that thanks to Rita Skeeter's articles a few years ago, every Death Eater in Britain knows that you're one of Harry's closest friends."

"Now you're just trying to scare me," Hermione said with a laugh, feeling a little flutter in her stomach.

"I wish I was. You'd be idiotic not to be scared, and I know you're smarter than that." He smiled suddenly. "It's knowing that that's kept me sane- otherwise I'd have gone crazy with worry about you and Ron." 

"Well, we're much safer at Hogwarts," Hermione said, giving his calloused hand a squeeze.

"Yes," said Sirius, tilting his head to the side. "I like it best when you're all clumped together….I just wish all of the Weasleys still went to Hogwarts, not only Ron and Ginny. Luckily, I've been with Bill and Charlie for the past few months."

"And Fred and George know how to take care of themselves," Hermione said, thinking comfortably of the security measures the twins had taken to protect their home. They were both so clever that they could quite easily conjure up the most unbreakable charms- both brothers were confident that it would take Voldemort himself to get into their house and attack them, and since the twins had remained fairly neutral about the fight, they weren't so important as to trouble the Dark Lord.

"They're smart to lay low," Lupin agreed. "But I'm worried about more than that- now that Bill's got his Auror license and Fleur's pregnant with their first child…I mean, they're a prime target…just like…." He trailed off, and stared out the window. It only took Hermione a moment to figure out who he was talking about.

"James and Lily Potter?" she asked, in a small voice. A long, weary sigh confirmed she was right. Hermione already knew that James had gotten his Auror license around the time that Lily was pregnant with Harry- Bill and Fleur's situation was startlingly similar to the Potter's, especially since Bill Weasley was one of the more outspoken wizards with enough power to do some damage to Voldemort and his Death Eaters. "I thought they were moving to London."

"Bill's convinced they're safer in France. Which is fair enough, I mean, there's only a few known Death Eaters who habit France, and he does have the Fidelius Charm performed on his house…" Another sigh. "I just like it when they're all close together. They can't take any chances." He gave her a thin smile. "And the reason I'm telling you all of this, my dear," he said, trying to inject a jovial tone into the conversation, "is because I want you to know that you can't be too careful. Yes, we are winning, but there's no safe way of knowing _exactly what is going to happen._"

Suddenly Hermione thought of the previous Friday night, and Harry's furious words bit back at her. _I trust you enough not to let anything slip. But it's dangerous, you know, he could slip you a truth serum or hex you or anything while you're in here…_. Hermione shivered. She'd declared without conviction that Draco was innocent- she'd just _said_ it at the time, but later on, thinking about it, she wasn't entirely sure. 

"But what am I worrying about," said Lupin, shrugging his shoulders. "That lovely chap you see a lot isn't about to let anything bad happen to you, is he?"

"Lovely chap? Oh! You mean Ron-" Hermione faltered. Lupin raised his eyebrows.

"Is everything…okay?"

"Yes. Yes, of course! Ron _is_ lovely." _And he does go out of his way to protect me,_ Hermione reminded herself. She felt trouble for a bit, wondering why she didn't feel like she should have said that with more conviction. Lovely? Surely Ron meant more to her than just…lovely. Lupin was regarding her quietly, a curious gleam in his hazel eyes.

"Did I say something wrong?" he inquired finally.

"What? No!"

"Sorry," he said, leaning back in his chair, "only you look a bit, sort of…worried. Is everything okay between you two?"

"I don't know," Hermione admitted. And without warning, she'd spilled the whole story to him, about tutoring Draco and keeping it from Ron, having Harry find out and forcing him not to say anything; about Ron, fighting with him for the first time in ages and having things not _quite_ back to normal, his strange behaviour, and finally how he hadn't given her a gift, had hardly even noticed it was her birthday, and…and…

Before she knew it, she was crying over Ron again- something she had hoped would stop when they worked their feelings out. Lupin took her into those comforting arms and calmed her, chuckling, of all things.

"You've got it all wrong, Hermione," he said, passing her a box of tissues from Dumbledore's desk. "I know you're both mature for your age but you're still only fifteen years old. You've got a long way to go before you're going to be able to be in love without being confused. It's just a natural part of growing up. Things'll work out, you'll see." Ron's strange behavior he dismissed as "adolescent bewilderment," and added with a twinkle in his eyes that "Ron's probably more than you think." He dismissed her with a final, comforting hug and another quick kiss.

Lupin had given Hermione something to think about for the rest of the day, but she wasn't distracted from the fact Ron still had yet to give her a gift. She _knew_ it was petty, and deep down she knew that she'd rather have Ron than all of her other birthday gifts- but he had been so inattentive lately that she felt that maybe it would make up for it. Even though she knew that was petty as well- and untrue. _Maybe he forgot_, Hermione thought, as she entertained herself with morbid thoughts during History of Magic. _Maybe he only just remembered this morning and hurriedly conjured up some flowers…_ As she stared vacantly at him, he turned and gave her a grin. He'd been ever so attentive all day long, though. Hermione frowned. Maybe he really _had_ only remembered it was her birthday that morning, and decided to drop his cold demeanor as compensation for not buying her a present…

Hermione shook her head. _Compensation? Not buying a present?_ She was turning into the kind of shallow, clingy girl that she herself despised. _This is _exactly_ what's wrong with our relationship_, she berated herself, _I'm turning into something I hate. _She suddenly regretted letting Lavender do her hair and makeup that morning- she felt shallow, petty and prissy. But why did Ron, the boy she adored, have that effect on her?

She didn't have an answer.

"Something wrong?" Ron whispered to her. "You don't look quite like yourself."

*

"You know she thinks you've forgotten?" Harry mumbled to him as they followed Hermione, Lavender, Dean and Seamus up the stairs after dinner. Ron looked at him, startled.

"She said that?"

"Not in as many words," Harry said, with a shrug. "So where is it?"

"In my pocket," Ron said, patting the little package that he'd been hiding in there since that morning. 

"Why haven't you given it to her already?" Harry complained, "haven't you seen how upset she is?"

"She's upset?" Ron said blankly. "I thought she was just pissed off because Neville broke the crystal ball he'd brought her." Harry rolled his eyes and decided not to answer.

"Look, I've got to run- Remus had something else to tell me before he hikes back up to the mountains…" Harry's voice trailed away as the ever-more familiar gleam of worry entered his eyes. 

"You know he'll be okay," Ron said reassuredly, stopping. "We'll catch up with you!" he added to the others. His stomach slipped a little when Hermione turned back and gave him an unreadable glance. _Was that "upset"? _he wondered. If she really was that upset, she'd done a good job of hiding it all day. 

"I just wish he wasn't going alone, you know?" Harry said quickly. He smiled. "Anyway- when are you going to give it to her?"

"When we're alone," Ron said, after a quick decision. "I think…maybe I should talk to her for a bit." He blushed, knowing he sounded corny. 

"Maybe you should," said Harry, fixing him with a meaningful stare. Ron smiled, feeling grateful that Harry was the kind of friend who didn't care how corny he sounded. He passed on his goodbye to Remus, having already seen his former teacher that morning, for a short time in Dumbledore's office, and then climbed the stairs to the Gryffindor tower. 

The party he had organised for her was in full swing- all of the Gryffindor students had been delighted when Ron announced he was throwing a party for Hermione on Thursday night. After all, the sixteenth birthday of one of the Gryffindor prefects was the perfect excuse to take a night off from homework and eat sweets until they were sick. Ron and Harry had already gone to Honedyukes earlier and raided the basement, taking as many sweets as they could carry. Dean had also made a large banner that said "Happy Birthday Hermione" and Seamus had conjured up a few decorations. Lavender had made ridiculous hats for everyone, and when Ron opened the portrait hole he found her just inside, conjuring up piles of flowers from her wand.

"Looks great- where's Hermione?"

"Oh, over there!" she cried happily, pointing with her wand and sending several orchids flying into the back of an unsuspecting second year's head. Ron turned to see her hugging Dean- who seemed to have made a habit of giving her red roses. He frowned. He trusted Dean enough not to know that there wasn't any funny business going on, but still…

He headed for her at once, stopping once or twice to say hello to well-wishers, and grabbed her by the shoulders. "Oh! Hello," she said, flush faced and bright eyed from the excitement. "What's up? Did you know there was going to be a party for me?"

"Didn't know a thing," Ron joked. "Look, come upstairs with me for a moment, would you?"

Hermione was staring at him. She shook her head slightly. "Sure, whatever."

He led her by the hand up to the boys dorms, ignoring the wolf whistles and whoops from those who noticed, though he did blush horribly. "What is it?" Hermione insisted the moment he had closed the door behind them. 

"Well," said Ron, "it's your birthday."

She looked stonily at him. "Yes, well spotted. Did you realise when you saw the large banner hanging on the wall, or was it just a lucky guess?" _Harry must be right_, thought Ron, _otherwise why would she be acting like this?_ Hopefully his gift would be enough to coax her out of the mood she was in.

"Lucky guess, I suppose," he answered, fumbling in his pocket. She rolled her eyes, and was about to say something- probably derogatory- when she saw the tiny package he had just pulled out of his pocket. Her mouth closed.

"What's that?' she asked, with nothing less than suspicion. _Merlin's beard, how did I miss the gigantic anger clot she's been harbouring all day?_ Ron thought. He handed her the little package of tissue paper. (A red velvet box had seemed a bit too corny.)

"It's your present, of course," he said, rather too defensively than he would have liked. Her reaction was immediate. She looked…upset.

"Oh…oh, dear…Ron- you really shouldn't have." She put a hand over her eyes- with the other she held the precious package. "God, I feel…stupid."

"Why?" Ron asked, bewildered. "Did- did you think I hadn't gotten you anything apart from those crummy roses?"

She brought her head up, with a long sniffle. "Yes," she admitted in a tiny voice. Now it was Ron's turn to feel stupid. _Idiot! I should have given it to her the moment I saw her! She's spent her entire birthday thinking…_

"Oh god- Hermione, you daft cow!" Ron cried, moved to hug her. She laughed into his shoulder. "I can't believe you would even think that. Did you think I'd forget your own birthday? It's only, like, the best day of the year next to Christmas."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" she said, laughing a little tearfully. She hit him on the arm. "You should have mentioned you had it with you."

"I know," Ron admitted. "Sirius brought it up this morning- that's why I wasn't part of the welcoming committee in your bedroom this morning-" She slapped her head again. Clearly she had been angry about that too- "I had to go to Dumbledore's office to get it. Believe me, I've had to sit on my hands to avoid giving it to you. I just wanted to…you know, be by ourselves." He looked down at his feet. He was blushing again. "So that it would be…important, you know?" He grinned at her, trying to erase the serious tone of the conversation. "So open it already!"

"Okay," she agreed, carefully peeling away the tissue paper. Inside the tissue paper was a little velvet pocket. And inside the little velvet pocket…

"_Oh!_" Her gasp was a mixture of astonishment and delight. "Oh…oh, Ron…"

It was a golden Claddagh ring- a traditional Irish wedding band that had, over many years, become a symbol of everlasting love. Ron knew she was familiar with the famous symbol because she had mentioned that her grandmother was Irish. He thought it was appropriate since he also had an Irish background, and also because he thought it was pretty. The centre of the ring was a crowned heart, encircled by two hands, the "arms" of which made up the ring. Hermione gently lifted it out of its velvet pocket with a slightly trembly hand. "Ron…" she said, shaking her head. "It's beautiful…" She looked up at him, with another shake of her head. 

"No, _you_ are," he said, sincerely. His heart was beating a little quicker than was normal. He reached a hand around her neck and pulled back her hair- out of her face. He liked it that way (why _was _she wearing make up, anyway? Didn't she know she looked gorgeous all the time? He liked her much better the way she usually was.) She was beautiful. Far too beautiful for a gawky scarecrow like himself- he knew that. A girl as lovely as Hermione should have been dating some Quidditch pitch hunk like Oliver Wood, or Ernie MacMillan, or…or Draco Malfoy. 

__

But she's all mine, Ron thought with an aching heart as he looked at her gaze back at him in rapture. "Ron," she said in a whisper, "this must have cost…I mean, surely you couldn't…"

"Afford it?" Ron said, and he blushed again. It _had_ been slightly pricey- but it had been Muggle money, after all. He had gotten Fred and George to exchange it for him at gringotts, and Muggle pounds and pence were worth slightly less than the Wizarding Galleon. And in any case, he would have spent all the money in his account for her, and more- if he had it. True, he and his family were living a lot more comfortably these days, but they were still no match for the Malfoy Mansion set. For the first time in his life, though, he had money, and he didn't care if it all went to Hermione. "I don't care. Seamus even told me what the parts mean, see," he added, taking the ring from her, "The heart stands for love- obviously. The hands stand for friendship, and the crown…well, it stands for loyalty." He swallowed as her doe eyes filled with tears. "And I thought it was appropriate, you know, because we were friends first and whatever has happened between us we've always stayed…loyal…" He paused for a moment, distracted by her eyes blinking up at him. "And now we've definitely got love…" His stomach lurched with an indefinable feeling. "So, um…which finger should I put it on?" He picked up her left hand. "I like this one," he decided aloud, and slid it onto her fourth finger. The charm he'd put on the ring worked flawlessly- it shrank until it fit her delicate finger perfectly. He sucked in his breath sharply. Everything felt very funny- almost too serious. Maybe he shouldn't have out it onto the fourth finger- it was the wedding finger after all, and they weren't married- or getting married, for that matter. _Oh jeez, what's wrong with me?_

Too fast, too fast, he realised. He wasn't old enough or sure enough about his feelings to make any promises he couldn't keep. He wondered if Hermione thought it was a promise.

If she did, she didn't say anything. She let out a little, choked sigh and wrapped her arms around him tightly. Ron's stomach lurched again. Everything was close- he felt a bit claustrophobic- and the dorm was secluded enough to make him think of things that he definitely wasn't ready for.

Especially when she kissed him the way she did- with enough passion and love to make Ron's heart melt and press against her. He felt as though his knees were a bit weak, so he sat down onto one of the beds, bringing her with him. But everything felt confused- he wanted to get outside and be alone, so he could breathe and sort things out. He had been going crazy over the past week, pushing her away but wanting her so badly. Her birthday, he thought, could be an indulgence- it was a special day, and he would be able to hug her and kiss her as much as his heart desired. And he had- but she had been acting funny, which he thought was no less than he deserved, because he _knew_ he'd been terrible over the past week but he just couldn't _think _with all the things that were going on and the way she made him feel and his heart singing at the sight of her but his stomach curling up in fear. It was _so hard_ sometimes, not to grab her and yell at the top of his lungs that he was in love with her. Ron had always thought the first time he fell in love he'd be happy- unbearably happy, like love was supposed to make one feel. But it was torturous, sometimes- torturous to not be able to hold her when he wanted, or to act the way he really felt around her, and those terrible night when he would stay awake, thinking, always thinking _does she love me? Is it wrong to love her this much? What's happened since we got together? What's changed?_

"Hermione," he said, breathing hard when they broke apart. "Please- please wait-"

She was breathing hard as well, looking up at him with something like…fear, almost. Her hands were shaking as they rubbed around the back of his neck. "Of course, anything…"

"We've…we've got to stay friends," he said, reaching around to the back of his neck and grabbing her hand tightly. "Promise me that if anything- whatever happens between us, we'll always stay friends. Okay?"

She looked bewildered. "What do you mean? Do you think- are we breaking up, are we-"

"No!" Ron gasped. "I just mean- for the future, you know. Whatever happens, we'll always be friends, won't we?"

She looked at him for a moment. "You know we will," she said breathily. "We're friends now- we always will be."

Ron felt like something had been anchored- one of his confused trains of through had finally pulled into the station. "Hermione," he sighed, lying down next to her contededly, as she fell back onto the pillow. For a long moment, she just took his hand and looked at him, searching his eyes for- what? Then they kissed again, softly at first and then firmer and longer and there were tears on Hermione's cheeks- "I'm just really happy," she explained- and he ran her hands up her back into her long hair which was silky rather than coarse, and she had loosened his school tie a bit and both of them were just a little bit frightened. So they kissed some more and hugged some more until the door burst open and Harry, Dean and Lavender rushed in.

Harry gave a sort of strangled screech as they both sat up, hurriedly straightening their robes. "No!" he wailed, "not on _my_ bed!"


	12. Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"I've been living to see you- dying to see you but it shouldn't be like this. This was unexpected, what do we do now? Could we start again please?"  
"I've been very hopeful so far, now for the first time I think we're going wrong. Hurry up and tell me this is just a dream- or could we start again please?"  
**Peter and Mary Madgalene, JESUS CHRIST SUPERSTAR**

"Someone's in a good mood," Draco observed finally, having had to endure nearly an hour of her humming and grinning to herself while he worked out complex differential equations. It was another Friday night tutoring session, and he and Hermione were holed up in the library once again.

"Oh- is it you?" she said airily, impatiently tapping her fingernails on the table.

"Ha ha," he said wryly, unable to come up with a really good remark. "Come on then, what's put you on Cloud Nine?"

"Lovely weather we've been having," she said with a secretive smile. "Come on, finish those questions."

Draco suspected her happiness had less to do with the weather and more to do with new Irish wedding band on her left hand, and he told her so, right after he'd finished question seven.

"Do you like it?" she asked him. She gave a sigh that was ridiculously lovestruck- the sort of ridiculous sigh that Draco never would have expected her to emit. "Ron got it for me." She graciously held out her hand for him to inspect it.

"Very nice," he said, peering at it, "but what was the occasion, did you get married?"

"No," said Hermione, drawing her hand back. "It was my birthday yesterday."

"Ah, yes, so it was," Draco remembered. That ridiculous choir of off-key elves had been one of the reasons why he had skipped breakfast. "Well," he said, digging around in his pocket for the pouch he'd put in there earlier, "happy belated birthday, Miss Granger."

"What is it?" she asked- with suspicion, of all things- taking it from him and opening it. "Oh- Draco!" she said in disgust. She chucked the pouch back at him across the table, so that a few of the Sickles and Galleons tumbled out. "I told you before I don't want any money."

"Maybe you can give it to Weasley," Draco muttered, "I'm sure that ring set him back a fair bit." It was a cruel thing to say, and he wished he hadn't let it slip off his tongue. Everytime he said something to make her angry her big dark eyes would spit fire at him. Except lately it wasn't so much intriguing as it was just plain…upsetting.

She had shifted, instinctively, away from him- since they had called their unspoken truce things had been almost comfortable between them- usually she would think nothing of it to lean across and let her shoulder brush his. But now she looked at him with hate in her eyes- hate that was becoming familiar to him since it was spat out from every pair of eyes he met in the corridor. He sighed. Losing friends was hard. Losing enemies was harder. "Sorry," he said, with as much humbleness as he could muster. Pause.

"No problem," she said finally, in a lofty manner. "You got all of these right by the way." Then she looked not at his work, but at him, with a scrutinizing eye. "You're doing really well," she said, in a McGonagalleseque way- straight and honest- "_Surprisingly_ well."

"Why surprising?"

"Just because," she said, shrugging. "I never thought you'd be all that good at Transfigs. Just didn't seem your sort of thing."

"Why?"

"I don't know," she sounded annoyed as she wrinkled her nose, "Well- to be frank- most Slytherins just can't do it."

"That was frank," Draco admitted, and he was pleased to see a tiny grin appear on her face, which she quickly concealed.

"Don't take it personally," she said, in a manner which clearly meant she _did_ want him to take it personally. "It's just a way of life- well, most Gryffindors aren't that good at Potions."

"Except you."

"I find it easy," she said with a shrug.

"Do you find most things easy?" he asked her. She turned to look at him.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Whatever you want it to," he said, wondering if he was getting her goat or not. He didn't seem to be.

"Well..." she said, "I've got brains. That's all."

"So do I," said Draco, "and I find most things easy as well. Except Transfiguration. But as you've said, I'm doing well. Clearly I've got more brains than you think- or is intelligence only allocated to you saintly Gryffindors?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Look, I didn't mean it as an insult-"

"Well, I took it as an insult," Draco said. "And I think you should know that." Pause. He was running out of words. So finally he said what he'd been dying to say for a while. "You know Granger, I don't make assumptions about you, so I don't see why I shouldn't be treated with the same courtesy."

She opened her mouth to reply, then shut it again. Then opened it again. Nothing came out. _Aha_, thought Draco, _I've won._

Part of him wished he hadn't- he somewhat enjoyed bantering with Hermione- and it was nice to know that she wasn't a pushover like a lot of other girls he knew. But he had gotten to her, whether he liked it or not.

"I'm sorry, Draco," she said finally, sounding surprised at herself. "You're right…I do tend to make assumptions about you."

"What an epiphany," he said, trying to sound jovial. But she just looked upset, and she fiddled morosely with the ring on her finger. "Hermione?"

"Yes?" A quiet whisper. He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.

"I forgive you," he said.

"D'you want to continue or shall I just leave?" she asked, drawing her things together. "I mean, I think we've done enough for tonight."

But Draco wasn't ready to go back to the cold common room, with its chilly stares and whispered conversations; with its green burning torches and its painted serpents on the wall. And- he realised this with a sort of jolt- he wasn't quite ready to leave her company. He was beginning to enjoy these sessions in the library…whether he liked it or not. "Let's both leave," he said decidedly, grabbing his books.

Draco employed the efforts of a passing house elf- despite Hermione's protestations- to take their books from them, which the elf was only too happy to do. They went for a walk along the outside of the castle- along the rose bushes, where he had heard that conversation between Finnigan and Thomas.

Still waters run deep…he thought, looking out at the lake, which concealed the giant squid. She was looking at the ground, visibly upset, fiddling with the ring on her left hand. It was iridescent in the moonlight, and he pointed this out to her.

She lifted the ring to her face, a small trail of golden sparks following the movement. "Ron must have put a charm on it," she said, "Probably to make it fit. You know rings react to magic like that, don't you?"

"Of course," Draco said. "But you're wearing it the wrong way."

"I am?"

"Yes," and he took her hand. She very nearly jumped back in surprise, and gave him a bewildered, wide-eyed look. Draco ignored her reaction. "When you've been given a ring like this, and you're in love, you've got to wear it so that the heart is pointing inwards, to show that your heart is taken." He demonstrated, by pulling the ring off her (soft, delicate) finger, turning it around, then slipping it back on.

"Oh…" was the soft exclamation. Draco shoved his hands in his pockets as he tried to ignore the tingling feeling in his fingertips- and when he found he couldn't, he blamed the sensation on the magic ring. Hermione clenched and unclenched her fists, as though something unpleasant had just happened to her- which, Draco reminded himself, was probably how she felt. After all, one could hardly expect the saintly Hermione Granger to let herself be manhandled by the villanous Draco Malfoy. A sudden and very unexpected feeling of shame arrested his senses as her remembered all the times he had wiped her touch off himself, saying the taboo word.

Mudblood…filthy mudblood, don't want your hands sliming me up….

Another unexpected feeling rose up in him then- remorse. It was no wonder she couldn't bear to have him touch her- the boy who had reviled her for so many years. _And now I know how it feels…_ Draco thought. A third feeling invaded his stomach, but this time it caused an interesting lump to rise in his throat. He was reviled and despised around the school- just as Hermione had been at one point- and now he knew how _lonely_ it felt.

A sigh escaped her throat as they paused in their walking- it was the hilltop that overlooked the lake, and for a moment they stared at the round rising moon in silence.

"Shall we sit?' Draco said, after a bit. She did so with another sigh, her hair bouncing around her shoulders as she flopped gratefully to the grassy ground. He stole a glance at her, wondering what she was possibly thinking. It had struck him how strange it was, the two of them walking around the school grounds like friends…or lovers…. Certainly not enemies. The animosity between them seemed to have lapsed into a weary acquaintanceship- the Gryffindor trio had lost their fight, including the once limitlessly argumentative Hermione Granger. Was it possible- Draco wondered- for them to perhaps…start again?

I'm sorry, he thought, looking at her with her thick lashes attractively lined with silver moonlight. _For all those times I made you feel lonely…I'm sorry, Hermione…_

"I'm sorry."

Draco's head jerked up. Someone had apologised, and it wasn't him. It was her- looking at him with doe eyes and a silver lining on the one side of her face.

"_You're_ sorry?"

She nodded- hesitantly at first, then with more confidence. "Y-yes…"

"Well- what on earth for!" Draco said, losing all dignity in less than six words. She gave him an awful smile- awful because it wrung his heart with two hands, because it was so sad, so apologetic, so- so- so…lovely….

It took her a very long while to say what she said next, and Draco had a feeling it cost her a lot more than her dignity. "Well," she began, very slowly, "for what I said on…on…Platform Nine and Three Quarters, you know…about your…your family-"

"My father," he said softly. She'd turned away from him. He had a feeling she was blushing.

"Yes- I feel so bad about it, you know, and…I'm sorry."

"Th-thank-you…" Draco started, but she stopped him.

"I'm also sorry for…" she took a deep breath, "for things I've done- since I've known you. Not that you didn't deserve some things-" Here, Draco couldn't help a laugh- "and, well, what you said in the library was right. I really do make assumptions about you, and…well, I know how that feels." She finished in a rush. "So, I just want you to know that I'm sorry."

The amazement Draco felt was not enough to keep him quiet. After a pause, he said the word as well- the word that humbles even the most dignified of persons. "Sorry. I am too."

And he explained his regret, his remorse over isolating her, and using the dreaded "M" word, which he had grown up using, and never been taught it was wrong. And when it finished they both sat rather flushed, the moon high on their faces now, illuminating their identical blushes.

"I suggest a truce," Draco said with a laugh, eventually, feeling rather light headed. _A truce! If only father knew…_ But he didn't know, and he wouldn't know either. Hermione looked at him with only slight suspicion.

"Of course, but…" she held out her hand slowly. "As long as you promise not to ask me for information, and as long as you're not secretly a spy within the walls, and as long as you don't insult Ron or Harry, and raise your wand to them ever again."

Draco smiled thinly. So that was what she thought of him. He suspected as much. But he contented himself with the fact that if she actually _did_ suspect him of espionage, then she certainly wouldn't hold out her hand to him. The idea that he was a spy was more than likely put into her head by Potter, whose distrust for everyone in the castle walls was becoming malicious. "You have my word," he said sincerely. And, though both of them grinned, their handshake seemed as binding and solemn as any written word contract. Shaking her right hand, Draco didn't touch her Irish wedding band- and with a sinking heart he realised he was tingling again.

"I believe it's starting to clear up," murmured Hermione, looking up at the starry sky.

"What's up, English?" Seamus said, sitting astride the chair next to Ron's armchair.

"Nothing much, Irish," said Ron, returning the favour with a laugh.

"Your face is awfully long for _nothing much_," came the clever retort. "So what's _really_ up?"

"Nothing, like I said," Ron said, shrugging. That was the problem, actually- nothing. _Nothing_ had been seen of Hermione since seven thirty that evening when she wandered off for one of her bloody tutoring sessions- it was now almost midnight. She had never stayed out so late since she started this weekly ritual. It bothered him exceptionally more than he would even admit to himself. Certainly not to Seamus, anyway, whose silence was about as reliable as the weather.

Seamus twiddled with his hair, wrapping and unwrapping a sandy coloured coil around his finger- characteristic agitation. "You can tell me, Ron," he wheedled, "I promise I won't say anything to anyone." The corkscrew of hair became more and more coiled as Seamus's finger wove in and out of his fringe. He was dying to know, Ron could tell. Harry looked up from his book and caught Ron's eye with a smile. _He_ knew what was wrong- he always did- and Ron felt safe enough in Harry's company to moan, at least once every hour, "Where _is_ she?" in a tone that hopefully did not betray his anxiety. But something was bothering him about Harry's reaction. Instead of launching into a list of suggestions where she might be, as Harry was prone to do, he had merely shrugged and said mildly, "I'm sure she'll turn up," every time Ron complained of her absence. It wasn't normal, and it wasn't reassuring at all. And since Harry, whom Ron usually turned to for solace, was being less than comforting, Ron airily said to Seamus, "Oh, Hermione's just been gone for a bit longer than usual."

Seamus's delight was obvious as his fingers tugged a tuft of coils straight and his merry brown eyes sparkled. "That's _so_ adorable!" he said, in a disturbingly accurate imitation of Lavender, which caused both Harry and Ron to burst out laughing. When it had subsided, Seamus gave Ron a friendly punch to his upper arm. "'Tis nice that you miss her so," he insisted. "Why don't you go out searching for her?"

Ron, who had been feeling restless to do something, leapt up. "Brilliant," he said, "Harry, do you want to come?"

Harry had shut his book with a snap and unfolded his legs as though preparing to stand up. "I don't think you should," Harry said in a peculiar tone. Ron looked at his friend, hoping Harry's expression would betray some sort of ideas of what was going on avail. Harry stared earnestly up at him with troubled eyes.

"Why?' said Ron.

Harry shrugged. "She's probably just gotten holed up in the library with some assignment or other. She'll only get irritated if you two go storming in there looking for her."

"No she won't," said Seamus, stubbornly. "Anyway," he added, with a petulant gleam at Ron, "I hate to think of her sitting all by herself with only some random Slytherin boy for company. That place is creepy, and Madame Pince can't be everywhere at once, though she tries."

Harry rolled his eyes in a not entirely convincing way. "As if Madame Pince would allow any trouble in her library. That vulture'll be onto the Slytherin quick smart if he tries anything."

"We don't even know who this guy _is_," Seamus argued, "I know Hermione's not supposed to tell us, but I think it would be safer if we knew who it was."

"It'd be safer for _you_," observed Harry critically, "seeing as you're about to die from curiosity. Don't be so nosy, Seamus, and let her be." He directed the last part of that sentence to Ron, who stood between the two undecidedly. Seamus's remarks had aroused the more worrying aspects of Hermione's burden- worries which he had been entertaining since the moment she started disappearing every Friday night. His heart turned at the corners with jealousy as he thought of Hermione spending hours at a time with some random _boy_- not just any boy, a _Slytherin_. A mind enflamed with worry, and several horrible scenarios, persuaded him to stride toward the portrait hole, with a mission in mind.

"I'm going to the library anyway," he threw over his shoulder, marching determinedly. There was a clump as Harry overturned the footstool he had been resting his feet in, in a hurry to get to his feet. "Ron, don't!"

Ron turned back for one moment to look at Harry. Something in the tone of his warning alarmed him- _Harry _really_ doesn't want me to go and find her_, Ron realised, _but why…? What could possibly…?_ And before he had time to question Harry, the portrait door squeaked slowly open, and in climbed Hermione. She looked fine, and so complacent about wandering in at midnight that a rush of rage went to Ron's head. "Where have you been?" he snapped. She turned around to stare at him in surprise.

"What are you still doing awake?" she said, bending down to pick up a quill she had dropped.

It never even crossed Ron's mind at that moment to tell her that he was waiting for her. Looking back, though, it would have been a much more sensible thing to say. "What the hell have you been doing?" he shot back at her, ignoring her question. "You've been gone since _seven thirty_."

Hermione was taken aback, but only momentarily. "I was tutoring. You know that's what I do on Friday nights." Her tone was frosty, but Ron didn't heed the warning sign- in fact, it only enraged him more.

"For _four and a half hours_?" he demanded. "You must think I'm stupid!"

Hermione had walked past him to the table where they usually set up their homework. She slammed her books down angrily and whirled back around to look at him. "I was, as a matter of fact," she snapped back, " and even if I wasn't, what right have you to question what I do?"

Ron felt his mind grow fuzzy with bad temper. Some reasonable part of him was trying to coax him to sit down, apologise, and let the anger cool. But he wouldn't. He couldn't.

"So you're admitting that you _weren't_ tutoring all this time?" he cried.

"_No_! I _was_ tutoring!" she shot back, angrily. "How _dare _you just assume that I would lie to you? What on earth is wrong with you anyway?" Harry had begun to cough, and Seamus took the opportunity to try and finish it.

"Simmer down, chaps," he chirped, running forward to squeeze Hermione's shoulder. "Listen, love, Ron was only concerned that you were gone for so long. You know it's not safe to go wandering around by yourself, not even in the school, so don't let's argue, and get a good night's sleep, yeah?"

Hermione's anger seemed to appease, and Ron felt a wave of hopelessness overtake him as she looked at him with intense brown eyes. "He's a funny way of showing it," Hermione said finally. Ron felt his lip curl as his mind clouded over with all of those thoughts he had been trying to suppress, _She's lying, there's something she's hiding from me, where was she _really_, why is she doing this, what did I do to her, why does this bother me, perhaps she's cheating on me, perhaps we're breaking up, something's wrong, I can tell_…

For try as he might Ron could not shake the feeling that there was something fishy about this tutoring business. "Tutorer's code"? Hah! Hermione couldn't keep a secret from them for long; even the Time Turner business in their third year had come out after a while- it probably would have been sooner, had they not had their fight. No, the only reason Hermione _would_ keep her student's identity a secret was because she _wanted_ to. And that made Ron ache- for he had meant it with all his heart that he wanted to be her friend, whatever happened, and their relationship seemed to be getting in the way of that. _If we weren't going out_, Ron thought morbidly, _she'd tell me who it is…_

"Who is he?" he said suddenly.

'What?"

"Your student. Tell me who it is."

"You know I can't!" came the defensive reply. Ron felt fresh waves rage bubbling up again. She stood there, cocky, confident, his ring flashing on her hand in the torchlight, deliberately keeping something from him, something that was driving a great big wedge between them both, whether Ron liked it or not.

"So much for being friends," he said, unable to keep the bitter words from slipping off his tongue. The four of them fell silent. Harry's sharp intake of breath was audible behind Ron, and Seamus was back to twiddling with his fringe, wrapping coil after coil of sandy hair around his fingertips until they were purple. Hermione took three deep breaths- something she did to control her temper, Ron knew- and then let him have it.

"Would. You. Just. Bloody. Well. _Make up your mind!_" she said, up to screaming volume by the time she had reached the end of her sentence.

"Hermione," Harry said warningly, always the mediator. But she wasn't listening. She had focused her rage on Ron in a way that he hadn't seen since before they were together.

"For Christs's sake, Ron, how can you expect me to live when you're constantly blowing hot and cold at me? I don't know what to think anymore! One moment you're attached to my hip, the next thing I know you looking at me as though you wish I'd disappear! I don't know what I've done- if anything!- but you can't keep treating me like this. So just make up your sodding mind and be done with it, because I don't have to put up with this anymore!" And with that, she whirled up the staircase to the girls' dorms without even a backward glance.

Ron probably would have gotten to sleep even after that had he not turned around to see Harry's eyes full of pity.


	13. Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE

"Well, if you're like most people, you'll hide behind a flimsy belief that everything will sort itself out. Then you'll spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder, waiting for everything to go wrong again, all the while becoming crusty and cynical…until you get so depressed that you lie down and beg the earth to swallow you up. Or even worse, become addicted to Billy Joel songs."

Bradley Trevor Grieve, THE BLUE DAY BOOK

They patched things up with a few letters and a few heartfelt hugs and a few discussions from either side with Harry. But neither of them really addressed what had been brought up in the fight, though they both knew it should have been, and neither of them felt exactly comfortable, like they were treading on glass in an effort not to start another row. So they both knew that the patch was only temporary, rather like an old rubber patch on a bicycle tyre that slowly lets out air not matter how much adhesive is on the other side. An unfixable puncture had been poked through their relationship, which they grew to accept with weary admittance, rather like the bicycle owner gradually becoming used to the constant _hissss_ of air slowly being released through the hole.

The love that they had for each other was still aching away underneath all their problems was there- but neither of them really wanted to put in the effort to dig through all of it and find that ember. Slowly, but surely, their relationship was falling apart. And the both of them knew it. Stepping on glass became a bore, and before long the two of them were pecking at each other like bad tempered gulls. They made up, but it wouldn't hold, and thus they prolonged the agony by pretending nothing was wrong, and avoiding being alone together as much as possible. The cold was settling in fast as the middle of October sped up on them. And then one day, this fragile façade collapsed altogether.

On this particular gusty October day- a Friday- Hermione found herself looking forward to seeing Draco that night. A few weeks had passed since their truce, and she found life a lot more comfortable for it, for the pity she held for Draco now came without a cost, and she found talking to him surprisingly easy. She had even- after some persuasion- recounted the story to Draco of how she and Ron first kissed in the kitchen of the Burrow, which he listened to with quiet fascination, and the shy grin of his which slipped onto his face more often every time she saw him. Gone were the days of the permanent smirk- nowadays Draco was more likely to be found frowning to himself, or with a perfect expression of loneliness in his blue eyes. He'd lost friends, power, money, and face at Hogwarts- he'd even lost enemies. "I don't even need to bother with Malfoy anymore, he's done everything he can to himself," Ron laughed unkindly, once, causing Hermione to not speak to him for the rest of the day- though of course she didn't give a reason why.

On this particular Friday, Hermione convinced herself that there was nothing shameful in looking forward to seeing Draco. _He'd be a nice change from present company,_ she thought, glancing over at Ron, who sat stonily picking at his breakfast and not saying a word. "I'm going for a walk," she decided. Ron grunted, and Seamus and Dean both looked up quickly.

"You'd better not," Lavender breathed, clutching Hermione's wrist. "At least, not alone." She looked pointedly at Ron, who was focusing on mashing as much of his cereal up with a spoon as possible.

"Oh, please, nothing's going to happen to me in broad daylight."

"That first year was attacked in broad daylight," reminded Seamus.

"I'm _not_ a first year!" said Hermione, ruffled.

"We know," said Dean, gently, "but you're not Albus Dumbledore yet either."

Hermione had to admit she thought they had a point. After the first attack on Janice Smart, her mysterious attackers had gotten bolder and more brutal. They came to be known as the Muggle-Bashers- already rumours were circulating that they were Death Eaters that a You-Know-Who supporter had smuggled into the school- and even Hermione had to admit she was just a tiny bit afraid of them, considering what they had done to the unlucky Hogwarts students that had crossed their paths.

A few weeks following the first attack, Angelina Johnsons's little sister, Abigail- a Gryffindor and Muggle born, just as her sister was- had been found behind the Quidditch pitch sheds by Oliver Wood. Apparently she had gotten up early to go flying- but upon reaching the pitch found she wasn't alone. She didn't even have enough time to pull out her wand. "It was still quite dark," she had told Hermione, "and suddenly I felt someone grab me from behind, and then my head really started hurting, and then I passed out."

The third incident was by far the most revolting- a first year beaten and then hexed unconscious in broad daylight on the edge of the lake. The Muggle born boy had managed to catch a glimpse of three tall assailants before falling unconscious. Dumbledore had had to address the school very seriously about it.

"There has always been division, and sometimes violence, inside the Hogwarts walls," he had said gravely, with none of his sparkle or benevolence- in fact the whole speech was said with a shockingly bitter tone to it, a weary hatred of the war and of Voldemort's power- "But nothing has ever sickened me as much as these attacks do. Outside the war is raging and the young witches and wizards who claim to be the future of our nation cannot even bring themselves to be united. Now is the time more than ever to forgive each other, to look past heritage and parents and background and see the witch or wizard behind that. I cannot lie to you all- nowhere is safe, not even Hogwarts. But I had been hoping the only danger would come from outside the walls, not within…" He had sighed, oh so painfully. "The Dark Lord's poison infects even the most beautiful minds, and blinds the truth…" had been the final words, before he abruptly stopped talking and left the Great Hall while Professor McGonagall read out rules and conducts pending the attacks. "No one is to go anywhere by themselves- try to go in groups of more than three people. The culprits will be caught and dealt with appropriately, I assure you…"

"I'll go," Harry said, standing up, and snapping Hermione back to the present. "Come on, you," he said with affection, taking her arm. Ron didn't even look up as they headed to the Entrance Hall, and the grounds beyond. Harry and Hermione settled into a comfortable silence, as only best friends can do, and walked arm in arm along the rose bushes. (Hermione couldn't help remembering her truce with Draco and felt an involuntarily shiver run up her back. But not a bad shiver- a good one that left her tingling.)

Harry sighed eventually, and Hermione looked at him and waited, knowing that he had something to say. Harry's hair, still wet from his morning shower, had fashioned itself into a mop of black curls that flopped into his eyelashes. He ran a hand up his forehead, pushing it out of the way, in a manner that told Hermione he was perturbed about something.

"What is it?" she said presently. Harry bit his lip as he looked down at her.

"If you don't tell him," he said, "I will."

It only took a few moments for Hermione to realise who and what Harry was referring to. "Ah," she said. "Will you really?"

"Yes," he answered, without hesitation. "He deserves to know. Especially in light of what's been happening and…" another sigh. "He just deserves to know."

Harry was unfortunately telling Hermione what she least wanted to hear. "I can't," she said, knowing with a feeling of dread that if Ron found out she'd been lying to him, all this time, that would be the end of it. The end- something which was inevitable but could be put off for any length of time, for both of them were stubborn and neither of them brave when it came to dealing with the other. Harry stopped her and fixed her with a look.

"You've got to. I can't keep lying to him anymore, Hermione, even being affiliated with it makes me feel guilty. I hate to be selfish, but it'll be better in the long run."

"No it won't," said Hermione, with utter conviction. She was right, and she fancied Harry knew it, for he looked uneasy as he insisted, yet again.

"It will- I promise," he faltered. "Come on, Herm- you know it's not right. It's gotten easier to keep from him, hasn't it?" Hermione sickened herself when she nodded. It _had_ been easier to lie to Ron as the days went by. She hated the fact. "You've never been afraid of hard work as long as I've known you," Harry said, with a sad smile. "I know you can do this."

Hermione shook her head, bowing at the neck so her wouldn't see her eyes begin to fill. _Oh my God, I'm really going to lose him_, she thought, _When I tell him that'll be it…_

But not even her curtain of hair could hide her tears. Harry sighed and did what he always did- he patted her shoulder and told her everything was going to be okay. But not even he believed it this time. "Do you hate me because I'm not telling him?" she asked in a tiny voice that she didn't recognise.

Another sigh. "Of course not, don't be stupid." He paused. "I hate the situation, and I hate the fact that you don't think you can tell him, and I hate myself for being part of it, and I hate the fact that Ron's in the dark about all of this. He's my best friend along with you, and it's not right to keep this from him."

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry I brought you into this," said Hermione forlornly. Harry shook his mop.

"No, it's my fault for blundering into the situation… To tell you the truth," he said sheepishly, "when I came into the library that night it wasn't by coincidence. I, um, was really worried about you. The library is quiet on Friday nights, and you know so much and you're so vulnerable, and I didn't like to think of you sitting in some dark corner with a Slytherin who we didn't know, and who could try _anything_…" He paused. "And then I found out it was Malfoy." He looked down at her thoughtfully. Hermione spoke up, feeling wretched.

"Do you really think he'll try something?" she asked. "Honestly?" She could still imagine Malfoy suddenly turning on her, forcing a truth serum down her throat and getting her to talk- but it was an unrealistic picture, like imagining Professor Snape bursting into a rendition of "Oklahoma, OK!" Now that she had gotten to know the boy, his cruel streak seemed nothing more than a figment of her imagination.

"I don't." Harry said finally. "I don't know what it is about him, but…I just…don't think he _cares_ enough to do anything."

"Neither do I."

Harry looked at her shrewdly, pushing a few hobbity curls out of his eyes. "You've gotten to like him, haven't you?"

"Wh-what?" Hermione cried. "_Like_ him- I most certainly do _not-_"

"Not _that_ way," said Harry impatiently. "You don't hate him anymore, do you?"

No, I don't. "Uh…" Hermione said uncertainly.

"I wouldn't feel so bad about this if it wasn't Malfoy," said Harry. "Ron's always hated him so much, and the longer you keep it from him, the more dishonest it's going to look. I know he's not going to be happy about it-"

"That's putting it mildly," Hermione broke in sourly. "He's in a permanent bad mood lately, it's not as though I've done anything to him."

"That he knows about?" finished Harry. "Well, to be honest, I think part of why he's in such a bad mood is because he knows there's a reason you're keeping this from him other than your code thingy."

"I know," Hermione admitted, "but Harry…I can't tell him, I just _can't…_"

A frown flickered across Harry's face. He was finally getting angry. "It'll be hard," he predicted, with an air of finality, "and Ron will be angry- but if you don't have enough faith in yourselves that you'll be able to stand it, maybe you just shouldn't bother."

Harry's words hit home, and though he apologised for it and spent the rest of the day trying to make up for his harshness, Hermione couldn't shake the feeling of doom in her stomach that plagued her.

We can't be very in love, she decided, during Transfiguration, as she watched Ron impatiently push his fringe out of his eyes as he wrestled with equations, _for something as little as me tutoring Malfoy to be the breaking point._

Hermione wondered when things had got so complicated.

And when she got up from her chair at dinner and said, "Well, I'm off to the library," Ron also rose, to give her the usual goodbye-you're-going-for-a-little-while hug.

"Come back soon," he murmured into her hair. A sudden wave of affection arrested her as she breathed in his scent and felt his familiar embrace envelop her. So she hugged him back with all her heart, as they were given to do. But if she had known it would be their last embrace of that sort, she probably would have kissed him as well.

Draco knew something was wrong the moment she sat down next to him. He puckered mouth, her full eyes, and trembling hands were a dead giveaway.

"What's wrong?' he said before anything else.

"Nothing," she said, with a tremble in her voice, and without looking at him.

"Hermione…" said Draco, placing a hand on her shoulder. It was like breaking a dam. "Hermione!" he said again, with alarm, as her full eyes overflowed. She couldn't speak, but laid her curly head in her arms and let the tears flow. Draco had a feeling she'd wanted to do it for some time, she cried with such passion, such misery. His heart ached for her. For all her fire and spirit, Hermione had a sensitivity that was seldom betrayed- but there, none the less. She sobbed on, trying forlonly to speak but failing- and, when he could stand it no longer and put his arms around her for comfort, his green and grey school tie was quickly soaked with her tears.

At first, he though nothing of it- she was crying, and he felt compelled to comfort her. But then he realised the last time he'd been confronted with tears (in that uncomfortable scene with Pansy on the train) he'd felt absolutely nothing. Hermione's Granger's tears, however, tugged on his heartstrings enough to compel him to hold her close and stroke her mane of hair, which was much softer than he'd always imagined it to be. Her little hands clutched at his robes long after her convulsive sobs had subsided, and Draco mumbled words of comfort into her curly head much longer than was necessary.

She drew away from him with doe-like uncertainty in her lovely eyes. "Oh…my God, I'm- oh, I'm so sorry…oh Draco-"

"Not at all," he said gently, quietly registering the fact that she'd used his first name. (When had she started doing that? How had he not noticed?). Her cheeks were flushed, and still wet with tears, and she used the sleeve of her robes to dry her face. Draco offered her his blue handkerchief, which she accepted after only a moment's hesitation.

"I'm sorry," she said again, humbly. "It's been a long day, and I've been really tired lately, everything is so worrying with the attacks around school and all-"

"Sometimes you just need to have a good cry," Draco agreed softly. She met his eyes, and Draco wondered if she he knew. He knew those tears- they were tears of loneliness, of heartbreak. He wanted to ask- surprisingly desperately- if Weasley had something to do with her outburst, but he wouldn't. If only for her sake.

"I feel stupid," she ventured, after a silence.

"Hermione, don't." And he put his hand on top of hers, resting on her lap with the blue handkerchief. It struck him that he'd wanted to do it, for a very long time. For a moment, she just looked at him, letting her hand rest under his, warm and soft, and _there_. Something funny was happening to him, because he wanted to put his arms around her again- even though she wasn't crying. _Am I ill?_ he wondered, as his heart sped up. "Do you want to do this?"

She was still looking at him, her mouth slightly open, and deep within those chocolate coloured eyes something was curling awake, arching its back, and blinking its eyes open. A realisation. There was a moment between them then- their eyes locked, as she began to struggle with a realisation that Draco recognised too- a stirring creature inside him that made his heart ache. The world was all around them but he wouldn't have noticed it, not even if the library burnt down, not even if the school exploded- not even if Weasley walked in on them right then and there. "I can't." Hermione said jerking her hand away, breaking the spell. She sighed. "I mean…I will if you think you really need it."

In his heart if hearts Draco wanted her to stay, but that wouldn't be fair to her. Her mind was probably with Weasley in the Gryffindor common room- which he had never seen the interior of but wouldn't admit wanting to. "Tell you what," he said, standing up, "we'll skip the lessons today. You're tired, you should go to bed and have a good rest."

"Oh- are you sure?" she said.

"It wouldn't be fair to keep you here, I think." She nodded, gratefully, and got to her feet without much persuasion, packing up her things as she went. "Are you all right?"

"Oh, yes, fine," she said, avoiding his eyes, piling her things together willy nilly.

"You want to get away quickly," Draco observed, before he could stop himself. She paused and looked at him. There passed between them a long moment, with their eyes locked. Draco felt he might have given too much away with that look though, for she sighed impatiently and finally began to speak softly.

"I feel bad, Draco…I-I'm not supposed to talk to you, let alone spend hours alone with you. Ron doesn't…Ron doesn't know, and when he finds out…" She shook her head, as if the prospect was too awful. Draco stared.

"You're not doing anything wrong. It's not like you're…cheating on him."

"I know!" she exclaimed, in rather a high pitched voice, "but I am- doing something wrong, I mean! I lied to him, and he doesn't think it's anyone he knows, and when he finds out it's you…someone he…he…" She looked guilty.

"Hates?" Draco suggested bitterly.

"Yes," came the heavy reply.

"You think I don't know?" he laughed. "A lot of people hate me."

"Yes," she whispered. "A lot of people do." She hesitated, as though she wanted to say something else, but then turned on her heel and walked away, quickly.

Draco stood confused. _What just happened…?_ "Hermione- wait!" he jogged after her, earning a frown from Madame Pince.

"What?" she said, turning bewildered before she went out the heavy library door.

"I know you don't hate me."

"What?!"

"I know you don't hate me," he repeated, more breathless than was necessary. She stopped, opened her mouth to say something- then smile.

"I…can't." she said finally.

They grinned at each other, and Draco let her go with a squeeze to her shoulder. It occurred to him as he leant against the oak door that something felt right about their friendship- something about her soft hand in his own made him feel contented. He felt much happier than he had in a long, long while.

Of course, that was until he heard the scream outside that made his blood curdle.

"Hermione!" he cried, bursting outside of the library door.


	14. Thirteen

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

_**"First comes love and then comes pain."  
"Love Boat Captain", PEARL JAM**_

**"**_Harry!_"

Harry looked up as Ginny clattered through the door, breathless and in a state of panic, and proceeded to stumble over to his armchair. Harry put down his book at once, alarmed. Ginny was as sensitive as her older brothers Percy and Ron, but all the same, it took a lot to get her into such a state as this.

"What's wrong?' he said, getting to his feet as she approached. Ginny practically fell onto him, and grabbed his wrists with both her hands.

"Oh my God, oh my God," she gasped, "McGonagall sent me-have you seen Ron?"

"Not for the last hour or so- he went for a walk on the Quidditch pitch- why, what's going on?"

"Oh, God- it's Hermione, she's in the hospital wing-"

"The _hospital wing?!_"

"Yes, yes, come on! Hurry!" Grabbing Harry by the hand, she pulled him out of the common room and to the hospital wing, explaining breathlessly on the way. By the time she had finished her story, Harry was legging ahead of her, dragging her along by the sleeve of her robes.

"She was attacked- they've found the people who have been doing it, by the way, and it's three Slytherins, a seventh year and two sixth years-"

"Who?" Harry demanded, as they dived through a tapestry.

"Millecint Bullstrode, Blaise Zabini, and Ignatious Farrel."

Harry swore. The three of them were notorious supporters of Voldemort and Zabini had even been taken to Dumbledore's office for questioning at one point. Not only that, the three of them were large and imposing figures who could easily beat a person as small as Hermione senseless. "What happened?"

"Well, as far as I can tell she had just stepped outside the library door, and they were waiting for her behind the pillars. She defended herself, of course, but only Millecint got hit by the curse- she's in the hospital wing as well, unconscious- and so the other two put down their wands and one of them- Farrel I think- had an old Beater's club, and they both started going at her-"

"Oh, _God_," Harry groaned, as he tripped up the third floor staircase.

"It gets worse-" Here Ginny grabbed him by the arm, and Harry's heart twisted with foreboding. "They found a truth serum in Millecint's robes."

"No."

"They were going to drug her, Harry. Get her to talk."

"_No_." A lump rose up Harry's throat. This was all his fault- if he hadn't involved her in all of this, no one would care that she was Harry Potter's friend- oh God, he'd been angry at her this morning along with it.

"I'm sorry, Harry…" Ginny said, squeezing his hand.

"Never mind," Harry said, righting himself with only a little sniffle. They'd reached the third floor now, and the both of them, breathless, had slowed down to a jog. "What happened, then? How did she get out of it?"

"You'll never believe it," Ginny said breathily, "but _he_ came to her rescue!"

"Who?"

"Take a look! He's still in there!"

Harry stopped in front of the hospital wing door, and then, after another hand-squeeze from Ginny, opened it. Hermione lay in the bed near the window, pale and with a horrible white bandage around her head. But sitting next to the bed was something far more shocking- Draco Malfoy, holding her hand.

"Hey!" Harry said, before he could stop himself, instinctively stepping in front of Ginny. Malfoy looked up cautiously.

"Hello, Potter," he said wearily. Harry opened his mouth, but Malfoy continued talking, looking at Hermione while he did so. "Before you ask, I actually didn't have any part in this horrible episode, nor did I know they were going to be there. I didn't set her up, I didn't know that those three were the ones attacking people- though now that I think about it, I should have- and I didn't tip them off in any way at all."

Harry opened his mouth again- then stopped. Malfoy _wouldn't_ have set her up, or tipped off anyone that she was going to be there, because he didn't want anyone to know about his being tutored by her. That part, at least, was true. "And the truth serum?"

Malfoy sighed. "I haven't talked to Bulstrode, Farrel, or Zabini once this year. Every moron who can read a newspaper knows that Hermione's your friend, Potter- of course she's going to know a lot of classified information. And once again, before you ask," he said, with a sardonic tone, "I haven't once asked her for any of that classified information. In fact, I couldn't care less about what she knows about Dumbledore, Voldemort, or whoever. I don't care about any of that."

They all lapsed into silence as Harry struggled with his conscience. Malfoy was making sense. Even if he _had_ known about the three Slytherins attacking people and wanted to set Hermione up, surely he would have done it earlier? After all Hermione had been tutoring him for over a month now. And if Malfoy was behind this- if he really was the cause of Hermione's pain- surely he wouldn't be sitting at her bedside staring at her with the most morose, the most troubled, the most- familiar- expression on his face?

But it's Malfoy! He could be lying! But Malfoy wasn't a liar. Not in all the years Harry had hated him had Malfoy offered anything less than the truth. And something was tugging on Harry's heartstrings relentlessly about this situation. It had to be the truth.

"I believe you," he said finally, with a sigh. Ginny however, was not as easily convinced.

"What were you doing hanging around the library anyway?" she demanded boldly, "It can't have just been a _coincidence_ that you managed to be in the right place at the right time? How do we know this isn't some big hoax?"

Malfoy looked perplexedly at Harry, unsure of what to say. "Ginny…" said Harry.

"He's lying, he's always lying! He's a nasty, slimy piece of work and he did this to Hermione, I know it-" Ginny said shrilly, ripping her arm away from Harry's pacifying touch.

"Ginny, calm down. Just listen for a moment…"

"She's right."

Harry looked at Malfoy sharply. He stared back with haunted blue eyes. Was he admitting it? Had Harry's instinct to trust him been wrong?

"I wasn't there by any coincidence," Malfoy explained slowly, looking at Ginny. "Hermione and I…we've…" He looked down at Hermione again and squeezed her hand. Ginny's eyes widened to about twice their usual size as she completely misinterpreted what Malfoy was saying. Harry couldn't blame her though- the way Malfoy was looking at her was so…affectionate, and so familiar- that harry would have misinterpreted what Malfoy was trying to say, had he not known better. (At least, he hoped he knew better.)

"Ginny, Hermione is Malfoy's tutor," Harry said, before Malfoy could say anything else. "Just his tutor." Ginny was immediately rendered mute

Malfoy opened his mouth, and Harry half expected him to say something like "Actually, we were more than that- much more…" but he didn't. Thankfully.

"But if I hadn't asked for lessons in the first place," he said heavily, "then she wouldn't have been there, and she wouldn't have been walking back alone from the library, and she wouldn't have been attacked. So you see it is my fault, and…" Another heavy sigh, and another forlorn look.

Harry blinked in surprised. Malfoy was taking blame. He was taking blame that wasn't even his. Never, in all the time Harry had hated Malfoy had his enemy ever been so…nice.

"But you saved her," Harry blurted out, as Ginny looked from him to Malfoy, looking for some sort of confirmation. Malfoy looked up suddenly. He looked at Ginny.

"Um…would you mind leaving the room for one moment? I just need to have a word with Pot- with Harry."

Ginny looked at Harry sharply. He nodded. "Just go. It'll be fine."

"I'll be waiting outside the door for you." She left with a final glare at Malfoy.

"Everyone is going to find out about this," Malfoy said, after she had closed the door behind her.

"They certainly are," Harry agreed.

"The Hogwarts rumour mill's going to be churning out about sixteen different versions of the story."

"Yes."

"I just wanted to know…" he shrugged, "I wanted to know what you were going to tell everyone."

Harry paused. "I'm not going to tell anyone, if I don't have to. And if I do have to…the truth."

"Yes, but…what are you going to tell Weasley?"

Harry hadn't been expecting that. "The truth, of course."

"He won't like it."

No, of course he won't. Why would he like to hear that his girlfriend's been lying to him, spending hours at a time in a quiet dark place with you? "How would you know?" Harry challenged, out of habit more than anything else. He was far too worried, far to weary, to get into a fight with Malfoy now. Hermione looked pale, and Malfoy's hand looked firmly attached to hers.

"Because I'm not stupid," Malfoy said- sounding as weary as Harry felt- "And for the little I know about him, I know he hates me. And I know that he doesn't know."

"Yes, but…how did you know that?"

"She told me. She feels awful about it."

Harry refrained from saying, _"Yes, well, she should." _Instead he said, "She'll tell him. She hasn't got anything to hide…" he trailed off, looking at Malfoy's hand tightly entwined with Hermione's. "Does she?" he said, chilled by the expression on Malfoy's face. _Where_ had he seen it before…?

"No!" Malfoy said, looking up at Harry in surprise. "Of course not. But you must admit it will look suspicious to Weasley."

"Ron will be fine. They'll both be fine. But I'll tell them about your concern."

"It's not _them_ I'm worried about. It's her. You know that everyone's going to be talking this for weeks. I mean," he made a face, "Hermione Granger, one half of the golden couple of Gryffindor, spending late nights in the library with Draco Malfoy, Evil Wizard Extraordinare? She's going to be the topic of everyone breakfast conversation until Christmas."

"You've got a point," Harry admitted, before he could stop himself. "But…this will affect you too you know."

"I don't care. I just don't want to see her hurt." And then Harry had a shock, for he had finally placed where Malfoy's expression had been seen before, as he looked down at her again.

Draco Malfoy was looking at Hermione the exact same way Ron always used to look at her.

When Hermione woke up, someone was holding her hand. "Ron," she mumbled, before she actually knew what was going on. But it wasn't Ron.

"How're you feeling?" said a voice that didn't usually accompany hand-holding.

"My head hurts," she said, too frightened to open her eyes. Actually, her _everything_ hurt. She felt like someone had taken out all her bones, muscles and organs, played a game of Quidditch with them, and then put them back inside her.

"You'll be fine. Everything's going to be okay."

She opened her eyes. The white ceiling of the hospital wing glared down at her. "What happened?"

"You were attacked," said Draco, and he shifted a little closer, squeezed her hand a little tighter. (Hermione caught herself before saying "I'm so glad you're not Ron." Because if it were Ron, she would have to explain, and she couldn't explain until she knew what was going on.)

"I remember…" Hermione said. _She'd stepped outside the library- they'd been hiding behind the pillars. "Millecint…" She'd been the first to step out. Hermione had been wary as she and Millecint had never been on the best of terms, frankly. "Hello," she'd faltered._

"Hello," Millecint had echoed cruelly before drawing her wand.

"They hit you with a leg locker curse," Draco supplied, as the images petered out.

"That's _right_," Hermione gasped. _By the time she'd managed to break the curse, there'd been all three of them on her, zapping her with their wands, laughing. Painful electric shocks…and she could see their faces._

"Millecint Bulstrode, Ignatious Farrel, and Blaise Zabaini…" she said aloud.

"They've all been expelled," Draco said. Hermione finally looked up at him. He grinned at her. "I'm glad you're awake."

"I'm glad you're here," she admitted softly. The pain in her head didn't feel so bad anymore. His blonde hair fell forward onto his face as he bent down to talk quietly to her, explaining what happened.

"You hit them with a curse- Millencint fell unconscious but the other two were only startled." His big blue eyes were full of something she never recognized in them before. She wanted to give him a hug.

"And then…"

"The Beater's club."

"Yes…" Hermione said. It was a wonder she hadn't fallen unconscious straight away. _She been momentarily blinded by the hard crack her head- then blood had started running down her face, and then she'd thought _They're going to beat me to death, this is it…

"And then…" she said aloud. Just as she fallen unconscious, just as she'd finally screamed in desperation…Draco had come running out. That's when she'd blacked out.

Draco's hand in hers was bruised, badly- ugly purple shadows fanning out into yellow cris-crosses across that pale, soft hand. "Oh, Draco..." she said softly, turning the hand this way and that, and looking up to see that his jaw also sported the same bruises. His clear iceberg eyes confronted her face- vibrant with emotion. "You rescued me," she said.

And now the vibrant emotion was replaced with anxiety. "But if I hadn't sent you out- if I hadn't asked for tutelage in the first place- this wouldn't have happened. It's my fault you were there."

"Don't be daft," Hermione whispered, sitting up. "I should have been more careful, anyhow. It was stupid of me not to think I'd be targeted. I'm just lucky that you _were_ there…" And now something stirred in her stomach, as it had done last night, in the library before the accident. He'd put his hand on top of her and looked into her eyes. And that's when she'd realised it, unfurling, swirling in her brain- changing her mind, changing her life- she _did_ like Draco. She liked him so much. She liked him…too much. And now he'd saved her life, and it was…

"Oh- please don't cry…" he begged, cupping her face in his hands. Hermione shivered at the touch. "Hermione…Hermione don't."

"It's too much, it's too much," she choked, placing her hand on top of this, as those horribly warm and revealing tears shed into his hands. There was too much to say that she couldn't, and too much to feel that she wasn't supposed to. So she cried while he held her and stroked her hair and her face and he smelt of clean water and something else that was fresh and sharp in her nostrils. And all the while he was saying, "I'm so glad you're okay- I've been so scared for you and I just want you to be okay. I tried to knock them all down for you, Hermione-"

And then he was planting soft little kisses on top of her hair, on her forehead and both cheeks and her temples and her eyelids-

"Oh, stop," she squeezed out, through the tears and his warm embrace.

He pulled back immediately, guilty, breathless. "I'm so sorry-I'm a prick. I know, I shouldn't be touching you. It's just- Hermione…" She knew it for sure at that moment- that those secret, feelings, the clandestine yearnings that she thought were only hers had been with him too. He continued, frightened, breathless. His voice sounded surreal and strange, echoing softly into the hospital wing. "The moment I saw you in trouble I felt like the world stopped moving. I thought you were going to die." He paused. "I don't want to see you get hurt." Another pause, longer and deeper this time. "I don't want you to hurt any more."

She knew what he meant. "I don't…" she said, ever so softly, and reached for his hand.

The kiss came with it. The moment she touched him she knew she wanted to, needed to. It was a deep and longing, sweet and terrible kiss, that seemed to go on forever. And Hermione knew, in her mind, that it was wrong and wicked and betrayal- but along with that she knew that it was right. Because she felt for Draco, and he felt for her- and he'd saved her life. _This is right- this is what's supposed to happen_, her head murmured, as he cupped both hands around her face.

But if only she had heard the hospital wing door open and then close again, what happened next might not have been so bad.


	15. Fourteen

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"I come back, open the door- and there's Veronica and Charlie, doin; number seventeen. The spread-eagle. Well, I was in such a state of shock I completely blacked out, I can't remember a thing. It wasn't until later when I was washin' the blood off my hands I even knew they were dead."  
**Velma Kelly, CHICAGO**

Please let her be all right, was the last thing that passed through Ron's mind before he opened the hospital wing door. Having only just found out about Hermione's attack, and subsequent rescue (by Draco _Malfoy_, of all people!) had sent him into a bit of a tizzy. In fact, he was downright angry with both Ginny and Harry for not letting him know sooner.

By the time he had come back from his after-dark flying session the previous night, Harry and Ginny had been holed up in the hospital wing. Having nothing better to do (and assuming the other two were in the library, studying) he'd gone to bed. And he'd woken up to this.

"Are you all right?" Seamus had said the moment he'd sat up in his bed.

"Fine. Why?"

"Well, I just thought with Hermione been attacked and all-"

"_WHAT_?!"

What had followed was a whirlwind of interrogation while he'd thrown on some clothes. He'd desperately shaken Harry awake, wrung the story out of him, and proceeded to dash to the hospital wing. Never had his heart stopped for so long than when he heard the news. Hermione, _his_ Hermione, had been attacked by the Bastards of Slytherin (it was a good thing Zabini, Bulstrode, and Ferrell had been expelled, or Ron would have been heading to the Slytherin dorms with a ready wand, instead of the hospital wing.)

"I'm sorry, Ron," Harry had croaked, running a hand through his early morning mop of hair, "I didn't' want you to get upset."

"Well, _now _I'm bloody well upset!" Ron had shouted, so hard that his throat felt like a cat was dragging its claws down it, and his eyes began to water.

"Ron- wait- Ron!" Harry had yelled after Ron as he'd dashed out of dorms. There was no time to wait. He cursed his stupidity. Studying? Of _course_ she wouldn't be studying! Friday night was the night she tutored that Slytherin bastard, whoever he was- oh god, what if it had been Zabini or Ferrell? Oh god, what if it was all a big set up?

"Please let her be all right," Ron gasped aloud as he skidded to a halt in front of the door to the hospital wing. He was suddenly horribly aware that the reason his face was wet wasn't sweat, as he had hoped, but tears. He paused for a second to wipe his eyes and pull himself together. "She's okay," he promised himself, "You know she is. If she wasn't then you would know."

But I hadn't even known she was attacked- no one ever tells me these things… the wall that Hermione had built around herself was beginning to show.

Oh, God, please let her be all right, he thought, and opened the door, unable to wait any longer. And then…

And then the world stopped moving.

Because Hermione had already gotten a visitor that morning. Draco Malfoy, to be exact.

And he was kissing her.

Or she was kissing him.

It was hard to tell.

He'd have plenty of time to think of it later, though, because the image of Hermione locked in an embrace with Draco Malfoy was to be burned into his brain for the rest of his life. He could still see it after he very quietly shut the door. He could still see it as he squeezed his eyes shut, willing the howl that welled up inside of him to stay back down. He could still see it as his legs gave way and he slumped against the wall, and slid down to the floor. And no matter how tightly he closed his eyes and pulled at his hair and buried his face into his knees, the image was still there.

Hermione, running a hand through Draco's golden hair, her eyes closed as she lost herself in the moment- and his hands, cupped around her face, sliding around her, holding her close- "_Jesus Christ!_" Ron screamed into his knees, unable to hold it in, any longer.

"Ron!" a gasp from somewhere to the left startled him- it was Harry, of course, breathless after chasing after him- "Ron- what's the matter? Is she okay? What's going on?"

But Ron didn't have the words to explain. In fact, even trying to reiterate what he'd just seen would have been the end of it. He felt- he felt like…

"I'm going to be _sick_!" he wailed, throwing his head back so hard that it hit the wall. Everything became blurry as Harry dragged Ron to his feet, down the hall to the bathroom, and rushed him inside. The toilet bowl rose up to meet Ron as he collapsed next to it and was sick. He wanted to be able to throw up so he would forget it, empty out everything he had seen or heard this morning, and go back to the blissful unconsciousness of sleep. But it didn't happen._The sun catches her hair and he runs a hand through those curls…the kiss deepens, and…_

_"Gross," _Ron groaned, with a cracking voice, and threw up again. A hand on his shoulder alerted him to the fact that Harry was still watching over him, looking after him.

"Ron…Ron, what's the matter?" the urgency in his voice made another wave of nausea overtake Ron. "Oh god, what's happened? She's not…I mean…"

"She's fine." Ron croaked, "She's absolutely fine. It's me that's the idiot."

"Oh, thank god." Harry sighed. "For a second I thought she must have died, or something…" He faltered as Ron drew away from the toilet bowl, feeling nothing short of empty. "What's the matter? Did you wake up feeling ill?"

"Disgusting," said Ron, spitting into the toilet, in an effort to rid his mouth of the foul aftertaste. Harry pushed something into his hand, saying kind words over and over, leant him back against the wall and flushed the toilet. (What's the matter? Come on, Ron, you can tell me. You're going to be okay.) It was a peppermint frog. Ron could barely force it down, though it made him feel a little better.

"I can't see anything…" muttered Ron, as the horrible image played over and over again in his head.

"Maybe you should open your eyes," said Harry softly.

Ron did, and sighed with relief as Harry's concerned face came blurrily into view. "Thank God, it's stopped."

"What's stopped?" Harry knelt down next to Ron. "What's the matter, Ron?"

But something very strange was happening to Ron, and he found he couldn't speak. For a moment he had gone into shock- and it was enough to make him vomit. But now the initial shock was over, everything that he should have been feeling started crawling up his throat.

He couldn't remember feeling so hurt.

"Hello?" Harry was waving a hand in front of his face. "Talk to me?"

A million and one questions arrested him. How long? How? When? What? Why? And with Draco Malfoy, of all people! A horrible thought charged him as he remembered Hermione saying something at the beginning of the year. "Draco Malfoy? He is tolerable, I suppose…" Had it been going on since then? Perhaps over the summer she had met up with Malfoy in London or some such place and…

No, of course not. He was being stupid. It had to have happened at school. But how? How did Hermione even get to know Draco Malfoy? And how long had it been going on?

"And why…?" he mumbled out loud, pulling a hand through his fringe.

"Why what?" Harry was getting frustrated. "Ron! You've got to-"

"Shhhh!" Ron's ear pricked up at the sound of a door opening down the hall. The hospital wing door. Soft voices were audible.

"…it's okay. We'll talk later…"

"Are you sure you'll be all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine…" Ron's heart swelled at the sound of Hermione's voice. How could you? He wanted to yell.

"All right, then. Bye."

"Goodbye…" The door closed, and then footsteps echoed toward them. Harry was looking at Ron with wide-open eyes. "It's Malfoy," he faltered.

"I know," said Ron. He gripped Harry's arm as Malfoy strolled past the half open door, hardly able to breathe, then looked up at his friend's face. Much like it had been the night he had fought with Hermione, it was wearing an expression of pity. And in that second the moment he saw those eyes, that expression- he knew.

"You know something about this."

"About what?" Harry tried. "I don't even know what's going on. You came up here to visit Hermione, and then you-"

"Harry!" Ron shouted, and even he was surprised by the savagery in his voice. "I'm no stupid. Or, maybe I am. Yes, in fact, I definitely am. Because there's been something going on- I knew it, I knew something was happening, I knew things didn't feel right…"

"Please settle down," Harry said desperately, and Ron knew they were on the edge of a revelation. But he wouldn't settle down for all the Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans in Hogsmeade. He surged to his feet, and nearly collapsed, because his knees were shaking.

"Ron!"

"I'm going to ask her then." It was a bluff- there was no way in the world he could go into face her, not after what he had just seen. He didn't know if he would ever be able to face her again. But Harry didn't know that.

"Are you sure that's a good idea…?" he said, stumbling after Ron out into the corridor.

"I think it's a wonderful idea," said Ron, swirling around to face Harry. Harry stopped and paused, looking straight up into Ron's face. And it was an honest look, which was what made Ron's heart ache a bit more, because it was also a look full of pain.

"What do you want to ask her?" Harry said wearily, with awful resign.

"What the hell Malfoy was doing in her room, for one thing. Why she refuses to tell me anything any more. Why she can't talk to me any more. Why she pushes me away, why she won't even tell me who she tutors every Friday night!" Astounding savagery fuelled each question. He'd said more than he wanted to- he didn't mean to let Harry know that he and Hermione were having such problems.

But Harry, as it turned out already knew. "I can answer at least one of those, for you," he said, so very slowly. He exhaled- a sigh that ricocheted through the empty corridor. "I'm going to tell you this- but keep in mind that she's been trying to do the same thing for weeks, she just never had the courage…"

"Bollocks," Ron said shortly. "You and I both know that Hermione's got more balls than either of us. She's just been lying."

"No- well, yes, she has- but she really wanted to tell you. I promise you. And the only reason I found out was through an accident."

"So you've been lying to me too? Isn't that just ever-so-smashingly wonderful?!"

"No. Not me," Harry said. "I haven't lied because you never asked me this Ron. I know who she tutors."

Ron felt bewildered. It didn't process. "And you didn't tell me? Even though you knew how much I needed to know?"

"It wasn't my business to tell," Harry said pleadingly.

"So it's your business now?" Ron said incredulously. He had thought the moment he saw Hermione and Malfoy making out would be the worst pain he'd ever felt- he had been wrong. Harry knew, and Hermione had lied. It was like twisting the knife. "Well go on then, mate, give us the gossip."

"Don't be stupid about this," Harry warned. Ron said nothing, though he very nearly smacked Harry in the face. What would Harry know about stupidity? Ron had never felt so bad in his life- his two best friends in the whole world had been lying to him, and the girl he loved- yes, loved- had been making out with his enemy. It was far too late to not be stupid, when he clearly was the biggest idiot in the world for not knowing. "Are you ready?" said Harry, looking warily up at Ron. "All right." He took a deep breath. "The reason Malfoy was in there just then is because he and Hermione are- are friends. And the reason they've become friends is because…Malfoy is the one. The one she teaches."

Click. Ron stood amazed for a full five seconds. It was as though his brain had to catch up with time. Harry stood tensely before him, waiting for a reaction.

But how could he react? This was inconceivably wrong. Hermione had been lying to him about going to spend Friday nights with Malfoy- who knew how long they'd been betraying him? Holed up together in some dark corner of the library, all alone…it was too much to bear.

Before he knew how to stop himself, Ron had begun to pound his fist against the wall, again and again, trying to numb the pain in his head and in his heart, swearing in a way he never had before. This was a violent, unforgiving pain, something he had never even come close to feeling in all his sixteen years on earth. It was as alien and bewildering as the situation he was in. So he lashed out, unable to cope, and when Harry tried to grab him, to sate him, he struggled so violently that Harry was thrown again the opposite wall. Ron stopped.

The two boys stared at each other, breathing heavily. Harry slowly, wearily, slid down to the ground. "I'm sorry," he said.

"I know," said Ron (because some faraway part of him did know, but it wouldn't be important until later. At present, a lot of him still blamed Harry.)

"Please don't be stupid about his, Ron," Harry said. "Please! It's not as bad as you think. All she was doing was teaching him, it wasn't as though anything else was going on, and I know you're angry now, but just think about it-"

"Oh, fuck it, Harry, now it the perfect time to be stupid!" Ron shouted. "Jesus Christ- she lied to me! She lied to me. She lied to me. I don't think you know how much that…how much- I mean, for God's sake!" Something very tight in his chest was stopping him getting it out, but Harry understood. Harry always understood. But this time, Ron couldn't be around for his best friend's reason and atonement. As far as he was concerned, Harry was a dirty rotten liar as well. He didn't know the whole story. He didn't know what was really going on in that dark library.

In frustration, Ron drew a hand up his face and into his hair. This was crazy. This was nuts. The air was heaving in his chest as though it was having trouble getting to his lungs. He wanted to do something- to tear out his hair and scream. The very castle seemed to be bearing down on him like storm clouds, like the air on a humid day. It was not until he started to see that horrible image of Hermione and Malfoy again that he realised he'd screwed his eyes shut.

"I have to get out of here," he choked, once he'd opened his eyes. "I've got to leave. I've got to fly."

"Take the Firebolt," said Harry softly. "Try to calm down first."

But Ron wasn't to calm down. Not with things the way they were. He ran to relieve some of the tightness in his body, ran all the way to the common room, and practically trampled down Lavender and Seamus, who met him at the portrait hole and tried to besiege him with questions. He ran upstairs, rifled though Harry's trunk and grabbed the Firebolt. He didn't even bother to go outside, he just opened the window next the bathroom and pushed off. It was extremely dangerous to do that of course, but he was beyond caring. In fact, he wouldn't have cared if the broomstick threw him off right then, but he knew someone who would

It was still early in the morning, only eight thirty. With any luck, and with the Firebolt's speed, he'd make it to the mountains and back before nightfall.


	16. Fifteeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen

**_CHAPTER FIFTEEN_**

_"Just like my brother, its shoo-wop-shoo-wadda, wadda yippety boom de boom"- **We Go Together, GREASE**_

"Hey, look," said Charlie, nudging Bill. Bill looked up from the letter he was writing in the direction his younger bother was pointing. In the far off distance, hazily, he could see the turrets and towers of Hogwarts castle. "Talk about a panoramic view."

"Yeah. Warms the cockles of your heart, doesn't it?" said Bill. He said it ironically, but he did honestly feel better just for having seen the castle. It was hard work, training to be an Auror in the forests of Scotland. He liked knowing that two of his younger siblings were not so far away, within flying distance in case of emergencies, and that when their training was over, he'd be going to visit them. It hadn't been so very long since he'd kissed Ginny goodbye at the platform, and given a last handshake to Ron before he'd wandered off after Hermione Granger- bless his little cotton socks- but he missed them. And he missed Fleur, terribly. Letters took a while between Scotland and France, and he worried. Voldemort was on the move, there was no use denying it. Bravado was fine in front of Charlie and Remus and the others, but at night, when the clouds were at their blackest, there was nothing to stop him entertaining those very morbid fears of his. That's why he liked the daytime so much better, and it happened to be quite a nice day, as it was. It was much colder up in the mountains than he'd anticipated, but then, it was October, and after all, they were in Scotland.

"Reckon we could catch a Quidditch game from here?" asked Charlie, squinting.

"Doubtful. Not unless you happened to be some sort of...far seeing bird."

"I can see a flyer, though- it looks closer than you'd think."

Bill looked up again. "Don't be silly."

"I'm not. Look."

Bill looked, following Charlie's arm. He blinked. And looked again. In the distance, a little black figure on a broomstick swerved up in the air. "So it is. My bad, sorry."

"I love it when you're wrong," Charlie said, and he strolled back toward the fire. Remus had taken Tarquin and Rosie to find some food, so it was just Charlie and Bill left guarding the little camp they had set up. It was on a ridge, fairly high up, at the mouth of a cave. A dragon had lived in it, very long ago, so it was roomy and still warm.

After about five minutes, Charlie stood on the ridge next to Bill again, squinting off into the distance. "It's getting closer."

"What is?"

"The flyer."

Bill looked up, for a third time. And frowned. The little flyer was much closer than he had been. In fact, he was getting steadily closer all the time. "I'd say he was heading for us, but that would be stupid."

"Yes, it would be stupid," said Charlie, "but it'd also be right."

"Ah, so I'm right this time."

"Don't let's gloat, William. Do you think maybe we should get Remus?"

Bill hesitated. It was unnerving to think that the flyer was heading for them- the training was supposed to be secret, if anything. The only other people who knew about their little group up in the mountains were immediate family members, Dumbledore, and presumably, Harry and Hermione, since Ron couldn't keep a secret. "I think maybe we should keep our wands out, just in case. We know he's coming, so that's an advantage. If he's planning to drop anything on us we should be able to blast it out of the way."

"Not if it's a curse."

"If it's a curse we'll block it."

"I still think we should get Remus."

"Well then go and get Remus," said Bill, getting to his feet. "I don't want to leave the camp unattended. Don't use the emergency sparks- that's too obvious. Just go and find him. I'll be here."

Charlie stood undecided. "I shouldn't leave you."

"Don't be silly. I'll be fine." Bill said, over his shoulder. Charlie hesitated. "Just go!" and Bill grinned to put Charlie's mind at ease.

This seemed to steel Charlie's nerve. "I'll be right back!" he said, and ran off into the woods, leaving a trail of fine green sparks behind him with his wand. Bill drew his wand as well. There was no doubt in his mind now about the flyer's intentions, and damned if Bill was going to let whoever it was harm anyone one of his team members.

"Anyway," he told his wildly jittering stomach, "Charlie will definitely be back by the time it gets here- he must be still at least fifteen minutes away." But the next five minutes proved Bill wrong. The broomstick was moving at an amazing speed, in fact so fast that Bill could see a tail end of red sparks following the flyer through the sky. By the time five minutes were up Bill could make out details of the flyer. Whoever it was had ginger hair and a Hogwarts uniform. And now Bill was feeling nervous for a different reason.

"No…it can't be. He wouldn't."

But apparently he would. Bill waved his arms and called out "Ron!" just to make sure he wasn't dreaming. He wasn't. Ron- for that was indeed who was mounted on the broomstick- started a nosedive that was way, way, too steep. Bill's heart leapt up into his mouth. "Ron! Lay out! Lay out!"

Stick end first, Ron hit the wet dirt. Actually it was lucky it was wet otherwise Harry's Firebolt would have snapped in two. The front end sunk into the ground, while Ron went flying into a nearby tree. He rolled over and over until he hit the roots with a thud.

"Ron!" Bill ran over to where his brother lay ridiculously sprawled over the bottom of the tree, legs in the air, arms akimbo, head at an uncomfortable angle. "Are you all right? Talk to me…"

Very slowly and painfully, Ron opened his eyes. "Thank God, it's gone again," he croaked. Bill was astoundingly relieved, in fact so much that his hands were a bit shaky as he straightened Ron out.

"If you're talking about you're head, then you're wrong, it's still there," he said (in a way that he was vaguely aware was reminiscent of his mother), brushing a clod of earth from Ron's cheek, "but only just. What on earth did you think you were doing?!"

"Uuhh…I don't think I'm thinking…not right now…" Ron mumbled, sitting up slowly. He felt his arms and legs for injuries, then his face, then finally, asked after the Firebolt.

"It's fine." Bill said, rolling his eyes at his brother's clearly misplaced priorities. Ron sighed in relief.

"Harry would kill me…."

"I don't think it's Harry you have to worry about right now, you great git," Bill said, stretching out Ron's grazed knee in front of him. He'd skidded so hard on it that he'd worn a hole through his school trousers. "The only person who's in danger of killing you at the moment is me." He stared at Ron. "Seriously, what are you doing here? You know you're not supposed to try and contact us while we're in training- only in emergencies, Remus says. And where do you get off flying a broomstick over the range? You could have been killed! And shouldn't you be in class? Ron-" Bill stopped, shaking his head. "You've got some explaining to do, kid."

Ron looked up at him with dozy, moist brown eyes (Bill was reminded forcefully of a started lamb and he hesitantly put a hand on Ron's shoulder.) "Well," said Ron, "I shouldn't be in class, firstly, as it's a Saturday- but I gather you didn't know that up here…" Bill had to admit he didn't. "Secondly, I get off just fine riding a broomstick over the mountains- you know I've ridden further than that before." Bill had to concede that was true, as well. "And thirdly, well- if this isn't an emergency, they should change the definition of emergency."

"Is it…Ginny?" Bill suggested slowly, seized by a sudden fear, but at the same time not really that surprised when Ron shook his head. If there had been an emergency with Ginny up at the school Ron would have said before now. "Then what is it, Ron?"

Ron got to his feet and the practically collapsed on top of Bill. Bill's heart pounded in his chest as he helped Ron over to the camp fire. Whatever it was, it had thrown Ron out so much he could barely walk. Bill knew that his brother was one to make a scene, but he never lost his nerve, never. Something had happened to take all the fight out of him.

"It's me," he said finally, when he was settled by the flames. "It's me, it's her- it's everything. I'm so stupid…I mean, I should have known….I'm so stupid…"

It clicked. Ron only ever admitted he was stupid about one person: Hermione Granger. Normally Bill would have laughed at Ron getting so upset over girl, but there was something different about his little brother's relationship with Hermione that made Bill stop and stare. He had never seen anyone as far gone over a girl as Ron was over Hermione. (Though anytime he mentioned this to Charlie, he would say "Look in the mirror Bill.") And if something had happened, Bill thought that Ron's extravagant reaction was slightly justified.

"Well, buddy, I can't help you unless you give me a couple of clues as to what's happened. We can play charades. If you like."

But before Ron could answer, a large grey wolf bounded into the clearing. It stopped, looked this way and that, spotted Ron, and then transformed into a very confused looking Remus. "Well, there's something I wasn't expecting," he said (rather paradoxically in Bill's opinion, as he had just sprouted up from a wolf.) "Hi Ron. Do I even need to ask or are you going to give me an explanation right away?"

Bill hastened to take the blame. "He came to talk to me, Remus- he just need to talk."

Remus looked at Ron. "Is Harry okay?"

"Yep."

"Is Hermione okay?"

"...Yep."

Remus paused. "Are you okay?"

Ron hesitated. Then he shook his head. Remus came and sat down on Ron's other side, and said, "Elaborate, please."

But before Ron could elaborate, Charlie came puffing up. Evidently Remus had run ahead in the form of the wolf. "Right, what's going- oh…" He stopped and the look on his face was utter bewilderment. "What's wrong?! Is everything okay? Ginny? Harry? Hermione? Are they all right?"

"It's Ron that's got the problem," Bill interrupted. Funny, how they all immediately jumped to the conclusion that Ron would travel into the mountains on a flimsy broomstick for the sake of someone else. Of course, it made sense, when you thought about how much Ron clearly adored his friends. Charlie sat down opposite them, on the other side of the fire, and waited patiently for Ron to begin. Ron lifted his downcast eyes and looked around at all of them, and cleared his throat.

"She got attacked, yesterday. By some Slytherins. And I…I didn't even know until this morning- no one told me. She was pretty hurt- but she should be up and about by dinnertime."

"Well, that's good news," said Charlie brightly, optimistic as always. Bill wasn't so sure if it was. It seemed to him that Hermione had done something that had hurt Ron pretty badly. Ron looked as though he'd had the wind knocked out of him, and Bill had an idea it wasn't just from his faulty landing on the broomstick.

Remus, his brow creased, asked "How did it happen?"

"She was in the library, tutoring- I told you she'd been tutoring someone. And then when she left she was accosted on the way out. Zabini, Bulstrode and Farrel- and they had a truth serum on them, and they were going to wring information out of her, and…" he trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut, as though the thought were too much to bear. Remus immediately got to his feet and started pacing. Bill was pretty shaken up too- to think that his brother and his friends were in danger inside Hogwarts itself was kind of frightening. To think that a witch as clever as Hermione had actually been put into the hospital wing was nauseating. They must have beaten her to a bloody pulp. No wonder Ron was so upset. But there was more to the story.

"Anyway…all this time she'd been telling me she couldn't tell me who she was teaching because of some code she'd sworn to with Professor McGonagall. But that wasn't it- or at least I don't think so- because Harry knew as well, maybe Ginny too, I don't know yet- but she didn't tell me because she didn't want to tell me."

At this point Charlie opened his big mouth. "Everyone's entitled to some secrets Ron."

Ron looked up and Bill was struck by how ablaze his eyes were- with pain, with anger, with unsaid words. "She's been lying to me. She told me it was someone I didn't know. But I know him. It's Malfoy."

Remus looked at Ron quickly. "And did Malfoy have anything to do with attacks? Did he set her up for it? Because we can get him, Ron. We can get him for that. Him and his filthy father- no way is the Ministry going to put up with stuff like that inside Hogwarts, even if Dumbledore's still in charge of it."

Ron let out a sigh that seemed to Bill as though it should have bounced off the mountains, so full of pain it was. "I wish that was the case. But I doubt it, somehow. Malfoy and Hermione…they've become friends."

"Hermione's not that stupid, Ron."

"And nor am I!" Ron snapped. "Or apparently, I am. I don't know, but they looked pretty bloody friendly to me!"

Bill, sensing they were on the edge of a revelation, sucked in his breath. 'What are you trying to say, Ron?"

Ron had buried his head in his knees. There was a long pause before he spoke again. "Nothing. Nothing. They're…friends, and it bothers me. That's all."

"That's all?" Bill said, mentally willing his brother to tell the truth.

"That's all."

The entire group around the campfire heaved a sigh. Bill got to his feet. If Ron was telling the whole truth, he'd bake the last Golden Snidget into a pie and serve it up to Cornelius Fudge for tea. If he knew his little brother- and he did know his little brother- there was something else that was missing to this story, and it was something Ron didn't want everyone to know.

"Maybe the reason she lied to you is because she knew you would react like this," Charlie suggested kindly. "You've got to try and be less sensitive, Ron. She's only trying to protect your feelings."

Ron paused and then said, not without some effort. "Yeah- sure."

"Have you talked to her about this- does she know you know?"

"No, Harry told me."

"Well, the first thing you do when you get back is talk to her. And don't get mad at Harry, because I can tell you're mad at Harry," said Remus. Ron looked up and gave Remus a very faint smile.

"I am mad at Harry. But it's not his fault." The last part was said with some surprise, as if Ron didn't know he knew that. They patched Ron's cuts up with their wands and gave some more soothing, brotherly advice as well as a mug of butterbeer; then, after straightening the bristles on the Firebolt, sent him on his way.

"Things will turn out okay," Bill said softly, as he rubbed a smudge of dirt off Ron's cheek. "And if you don't think so, then try and make it so it does turn out okay."

Ron paused and looked off at the turrets of Hogwarts in the distance. There was a barrier of dreaminess in his eyes, so Bill couldn't tell what he was thinking, But then he said, "I know what I have to do. I don't want to do it, but I think it's what should happen."

Bill swallowed. He knew what Ron was talking about. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

Ron shrugged, as the Firebolt rose into the air. "I think it's what I need." And then he flew off in a shower of red sparks. Charlie and Remus came and stood on Bill's either side as they waved goodbye to the rapidly shrinking figure of Ron on the Firebolt.

"Right. Who else here thinks he didn't tell us the whole truth?" said Charlie.

"Me," said Bill and Remus in unison


	17. Sixteen

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"My only love borne from my only hate…!"

Juliet, ROMEO AND JULIET

He was waiting for her in the bathroom when she left the hospital wing. Having gotten some sleep, and feeling and looking much better, Madame Pomfrey had said she was free to go. "Now, mind you stay out of trouble this time," she said, half sternly, half gently.

"I will. Thanks very much," said Hermione, and gave the old nurse a kiss on her wrinkly cheek. Opening the door and walking down the chilly corridor was as good a rush of blood to the head. Never in her life had she felt so very confused.

Draco had kissed her. Or had she kissed Draco? Whatever, in any case it had been threatening to happen for weeks, and now it had finally happened. Forget confused, she didn't think she'd ever felt this guilty in all her life. This was a thousand times worse than not telling Ron about the tutoring thing. This was- though it sounded ludicrously soap-opera-esque to her practical brain- cheating. This was betrayal to the highest calibre, because not only had she kissed someone else, she'd kissed one of the people Ron hated most in the world.

Not only had she kissed Ron's enemy- she'd liked it.

God, how her skin had tingled- how her mouth had quivered, covered by his own. Had she ever felt that way with Ron? (It was enough to make her weak at the knees…!) It was sinful and horrible and at the same time wonderful and romantic and goodness wasn't he a terrific kisser!

Her insides besieged by guilt, she stopped for a moment outside the bathroom, knowing that she had to go back to the common room and face Ron- she'd been thinking about him all day, and God, wouldn't he look so hurt…

But before she could let out another guilty groan, the bathroom door swung open, and someone grabbed her arm and dragged her inside. Before she could cry out, something soft covered lips- someone else's mouth. Before she knew it she was melting into strong arms, taken over by that familiar smell, of cologne, of chilly wind, and she was wrapping her arms around his waist and dragging a hand through his blonde hair. He was a terrific kisser.

He was also Draco Malfoy. But she had already known that. Thoughts of Ron were pushed out of her head as he whispered "_Lumos_" and the tip of his wand began to glow with a faint golden light. For a moment their eyes met. Then they both grinned, tentatively, at each other. "Sorry," he whispered.

"For what?"

"I had to see you. I can't stop thinking about you. I haven't- I mean…" he stopped and dropped his gaze. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. Not for ages."

He seemed so far removed than the Draco she used to know. This Draco was vulnerable and tender and strong and confident at the same time. And because her heart beat a little faster when he said that- basically admitting that he did like her- she knew that she did too. Just as quickly, guilt rose up her throat. When he moved forward and kissed her again, she knew she should have told him to stop. But she couldn't have even if she wanted to. His hands grazed her back, drew up to tickle the back of her neck and stroked down again, down into the small of her back, pulling her closer. Hermione felt as though she were about to burst. When his kisses grew slightly firmer, she responded, knowing that it was wrong. (Then why did it feel so right?) Who cared about Ron? Why should she care for someone so distant and cold- someone who didn't even come to visit her in the hospital wing- when Draco was here in front of her, as warm and loving and golden as Ron had ever been? Even more so.

He saved my life, Hermione reminded herself, I would be dead if it weren't for Draco… It was terrible and beautiful at the same time, that time in the bathroom. As much as she tried to block it out, Ron's face kept on appearing in front of her closed eyes. Eventually she couldn't take it any more.

"Draco…" she sighed, reluctantly breaking away. "I have a boyfriend…"

His breathing was ragged. "I'm sorry," he said, after a pause. "I'm so sorry. I just had to see you- I'll leave you alone, I promise. I just, wasn't sure what you wanted… I mean…in the hospital wing, I thought you wanted what I wanted, but if you think you need to stop and stay with Weasley- with Ron…"

"But what do you want?" she asked him. "What have you ever wanted from me?"

In answer he kissed her again, just softly. "I want you," he whispered, sending thrills up her back. "I want you to be my girlfriend. When I see you with Weasley…" he shook his head, "I can't stand it. I can't stand not being with you any more. I've liked you for so long."

"Draco…"

"Look, if you don't feel the same way- if you still love Weasley- then I'll go away and I'll never bother you again, I promise. But even if you tell me you still love him, I'm not going to believe you." He stroked the side of her face with a finger. "Because you're looking at me with something in your eyes that's definitely not platonic."

"No?" she said faintly.

"I know you, Hermione. I've gotten to know you. I've gotten to…" he kissed her again, and he didn't need to finish the sentence. When they broke away, Hermione nestled into his arms, unable to believe it.

"I don't love Ron," she said finally, and as soon as she said it, she realised there was a resounding finality to it. She'd said it aloud. The sentence that had been playing in her head for weeks. Of course she loved Ron- she would always love Ron. But not in the way that Ron wanted her to. Only as…a friend.

And now all that remained was to tell him that.

"Meet me at the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw tomorrow at one," Draco said. "Sort things out for yourself. Then come and talk to me. I'll be waiting for you."

And with a last lingering kiss, Hermione stumbled out of the bathroom. I don't love Ron, I don't love Ron, I don't love Ron… It kept echoing in her head. Had she really said that? it had been so long since the word "love" was connected to anyone but Ron. Was this bound to happen, one day? Their relationship was stalling after only seven months. If they were really as permanent a fixture as everyone wanted, shouldn't this be the early glorious days of their relationship, full of fun and love and random make outs in broom cupboards? Apparently not. Basically all they were, all they had ever been, was…

Friends who held hands. "I knew it," Hermione whispered aloud as she stopped in front of the portrait hole, and then wondered why she was beginning to cry.

If I don't love Ron, why do I still feel so guilty?

"Persnickety," she said to the portrait of the Fat Lady, who obediently swung open. Taking a deep breath, Hermione climbed in. It was after dinner by then- Gryffindors befuddled by food were lounging around while the fire crackled merrily in the corner, too full and satisfied to even think about homework. Hermione's eyes strafed the room- Ron wasn't there. But a commotion of noise started up as she wandered through the common room, towards her friends.

"Welcome back!"

"Feel better then?"

"Don't worry, the Bastard Slytherins have been expelled."

Apparently everyone knew that there had been an attempt on her well-being. Did they know the full story, though? That Draco Malfoy had been the one to save her life? Before she could find out though, Lavender fell of the arm of the chair she had been perched on and stumbled over to her, finally landing in Hermione's arms with a great big hug. "I was so worried!" she squealed. "I went to visit you today but you were asleep! Oh god, you've still got a bandage on you- oh look there's one on your wrist too! Oh, was it terribly frightening?" she said all of this in one breath. Dazed, Hermione gave the answers she thought sounded right.

'"I'm fine, don't' worry- oh thanks for visiting- no, I can't remember any of it." Seamus and Dean accosted her then, equally as enthusiastic about her recovery.

"Poor darling," Seamus crooned, kissing the gauze on her head, "boy it's lucky those Bastard Slytherins have been expelled, or I'd be on 'em like a shot."

"Oh please, Shortie," said Dean scornfully, "Millicent could only take you on with both arms- and her trunk- tied behind her back."

"Oh, up yer bum, Thomas,"

Hermione laughed automatically, feeling a thousand miles away from the familiar bantering of her friends. (What would they say if they knew she had just spent the last half hour in a bathroom with Draco Malfoy, every Gryffindor's sworn enemy? Would they be as happy to see her? Would they shower her with so much love?) There were other sacrifices besides Ron that would be made. But maybe they would forgive her. Perhaps. Harry had forgiven her for not telling Ron the tutoring thing, after all…

And speaking of which…

He was sitting at the homework table by himself, poring over an Astronomy chart, not even looking up at the happy throng that surrounded her. Hermione begged her friends excuse her and then came and sat next to him. She was slightly hurt. Harry hadn't come to visit her in the hospital wing either- or at least, not while she had been awake.

"Hi." Hermione said. He looked up at her with stormy green eyes.

"He knows."

For a second, Hermione's heart stopped beating. "Wh-what?"

Harry tapped his quill pensively on the table as he looked at her. "Ron knows. He knows you've been giving private lessons to Malfoy. He knows you lied to him."

Hermione's heart resumed beating. It struck her as pretty terrible that that indiscretion seemed unimportant now, compared to what she had done most recently. Harry's eyes were raking her face, searching for a reaction that Hermione couldn't give. She cleared her throat.

"You told him?"

"I think he figured it out."

"How did he take it?"

Harry tilted his head to the side. "He threw up."

Hermione's mouth went dry. "He did?"

"Yeah. He was really upset. He took off on my Firebolt for the better part of the day. He's only just now gotten back."

Hermione's stomach was doing a nervous little fox trot. This was it. "I'll go and talk to him."

"I think you'd better." Harry's voice was cold- very cold, as was his manner. He was mad at her. But Hermione didn't think there was any point in fixing it, as he was going to get madder at her pretty soon. "He's up in the boy's dorms."

And so, feeling heavy, feeling indescribably awful, Hermione mounted the steps and ascended, feeling as though she were about to throw up herself. She wanted to sit down, figure out some dialogue in her head, what will he say? What will I say? And she realised that the stinging in her eyes was tears, and before she could stop them, two had spilled down her cheeks, one from each eye. They were going to break up, and she was going to have to do it. A million and one images of familiarity ran through her head, of Ron's smell, of Ron's hands, of Ron's lips, of the Burrow and summer holidays, of Christmas with Ron, of white winter sunlight beating down on their heads as they shared their first kiss…

Just ghosts, just phantoms. It had never meant a thing, any of it. And now it was going to end. She opened the door.

Ron was lying stretched out on his bed, his brown eyes turned upwards to the ceiling, hands behind his head. He looked up at her, and in a split second, Hermione wanted at once to turn and run- or to run at him and kiss the hurt away. _I don't love Ron._

"I think we need to talk," he said.

The whisper started somewhere between breakfast and morning break; by lunchtime, all of Gryffindor house knew, and by the end of dinner that evening, it had spread through the ranks of students right through to the teacher's table. People claimed that Dumbledore was distraught, and he could not disprove that rumour personally as he was away on business. In any case, none of the rumours regarding Weasley and Hermione's condition could be disproved either, as neither of them were present for meals at all that day. Nor, for that matter, was Potter, although Finnigan seemed unusually morose, and that Muggle-born Brown girl actually started to cry during lunch- although that could have been for any particular reason. There was only one thing people knew for sure:

Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger had broken up.

"Did you hear?" said Pansy, as she passed Draco in the hallway. She had begun to talk to him again three weeks ago for no apparent reason, and for Draco's part he was inclined to be civil. At least she was talking to him, even if it was very snippily. No one else seemed to want to, except (hopefully) Hermione.

"Hear what?"

"Granger's broken up with Weasley."

Draco's heart leapt into his throat. He'd been on his way down to the Great Hall against his better judgement- thinking that perhaps seeing her before their proposed meeting at the statue that afternoon would be a mistake, as it might prompt him to do something romantic and stupid- but he said a quick thank-you to Pansy and ran down to the Hall as fast as he could manage it. But he was to be disappointed: Hermione was nowhere to be seen- and nor, for that matter, was Weasley. Potter's little gang of groupies sat at the end of the table, as usual, minus one Potter. The doors opened behind him, and a host of Gryffindor girls chattered past.

"I heard it from Sally. She says that Ron broke it off with Hermione 'cause he thinks she's been seeing Dean behind his back."

"Really? I heard Hermione broke it off with Ron, because he went to Quidditch training on her birthday."

"Did he? Surely not. No one would do that."

"I agree, especially not Ron…"

Draco followed their idle chatter as far as he could, straining to hear more. Weasley, break it off with Hermione? Or was it really the other way round? There were so many questions he needed answers to…

"Watch it," came a rough Irish snarl behind him, and Draco turned in time to all five feet of Finnigan bearing toward him. The stupid grin that usually adorned his freckled features was nowhere to be seen. Draco took it as a good sign.

"Finnigan, quick," he said, grabbing Finnigan's arm. The Gryffindor looked revolted, and positively leapt away from him.

"What? Don't touch me!"

"Is it true? What they're saying?"

"What who's saying? Saying what?"

Draco tried not to get frustrated. "About Weasley and Hermione."

The shorter boy stared up at him with malevolent brown eyes. "None of your business," he said curtly, after a pause, and turned to walk away. Draco grabbed his arm again, and this time Finnigan raised his fist.

"I'm warning you, Malfoy-"

"Don't be an idiot," Draco snapped, "Cracking over me addressing you may be a sign that socialising isn't for you, Finnigan! I'm just asking a simple question: are they broken up?"

Finnigan tore his arm away. "Why d'you want to know? You've no right to be concerned about them. Surely you don't think knocking about with Hermione in the library at all hours makes you some sort of human being?"

Ah. So Finnigan knew. That meant most other Gryffindors knew. "I'm not concerned about them, I'm concerned about her." The moment the words left his mouth Draco knew it was the wrong thing to say. Finnigan's large, usually vacant eyes, narrowed considerably, filled with suspicion. He'd given too much away, and both of them knew it.

"You son of a bitch," Finnigan breathed, after a few seconds of silence. "Yeah, they're broken up all right- and I'm beginning to understand why."

"Oh come on!" Draco said desperately, collecting himself and trying to right the situation with a disparaging smirk. "You don't honestly think Granger and I…oh, please. That's fanciful even for you, Finnigan. And I know how much you Irish appreciate fairy stories. What are you going to do, go back to your table and tell all your little friends?" He tried to make the question sound as casual and as non-assuming as possible.

"Wouldn't dream of it," said Finnigan nastily. "Why would I do that to one of my best friends? Only the lowest of the low are connected with you, around here, Malfoy."

For once, Draco was grateful of the spite his name brought. Finnigan was being serious- nasty, but serious. There was no way he'd tell anyone about it Draco's little slip up, for fear of damaging Hermione's reputation- already called into question because of the mystery surrounding her and Weasley's break-up.

Evidently some people remembered the articles that Rita Skeeter had written years earlier on Hermione's supposed relationships with Harry Potter and Viktor Krum. Draco knew the entire thing to be a fallacy of course- he didn't believe the stories then out of sheer spite for Granger but he didn't believe them now because of the fact that she had told him the articles were untrue. But this did not help Hermione's situation- throughout the entire day, everywhere he went, people were talking about it. It made Draco angry. Livid, even, when he heard some of the more spiteful rumours. ("That Hermione Granger's always been a bit of tart, you know. Anyway, didn't she steal Ron away from Parvati Patil last year?") It seemed people were less inclined to believe bad things about Ron, not only because of his status around the school as a star Quidditch player and fighter against Voldemort, but because of his apparent "family man" values as well as being "really very dishy". Girls, who were more inclined to gossip than boys, sided with Ron. Such was the speed of gossip at Hogwarts school that by the time one o'clock came, several bad stories had always been unearthed about Hermione, which made Draco wonder if she would show her face outside at all.

"Someone as sensitive as her won't take this very well," he told himself, as he waited for her- not without some feeling of futility. The day was chilly, with a light fall of rain, but nothing to make Draco scurry inside. He did, however, wrap his cloak a bit tighter around him as a cold breeze blew pas, taking several dead black leaves with it. It looked as though there were going to be a bit of a thunderstorm later, judging by the black clouds thronging over the mountains. Draco squinted as he looked again, past the Quidditch pitch- on which a solitary figure circled. It didn't take long for Draco to recognise the lanky figure and bright red hair- it was Weasley, without a doubt. And he was being quite reckless, too, rising as high as he could into the air and then dropping back down to earth, laying out at the last minute. Perhaps he was practising his diving. Or perhaps he was trying to kill himself. Either way the melancholy droop of Weasley's shoulders and clumsiness of his turns spoke volumes: Weasley was upset.

This, is anything, clinched the rumours for Draco. Surely Hermione had broken it off with him and not the other way round? Did this mean that that Hermione sacrificed the dying ends of her relationship for him? And, if she did, did that mean his relationship with her was about to begin? He hoped so, very much.

There had been no doubt in his mind when he saw her, lying in the hospital wing with those horrible bandage around her head, that he wanted to kiss her. Which got him thinking: why? He had been out with girls who were certainly more attractive than Hermione- but none of them were quite as…beautiful. There was something about Hermione that had been making him yearn for her these past months. She was so firey, so interesting, so different… She was clever and fun and she always listened, even if the problems were nothing to do with her. She was kind and tender and sensitive and adoring- and a very good kisser. And I love her…

"Draco?" Her voice prompted him to turn away from thew sight on the Quidditch pitch at once. There she was, all confused doe eyes and nervous hands. He leapt down from the statue at once and pulled her into an embrace. Her hair smelt of rain and shampoo, and as she wrapped her arms around him, she buried her nose into his neck.

"I thought you wouldn't come," Draco said, immediately voicing the fears that had been gnawing away at him, and as usual giving into the urge to tell her everything he was feeling. (Because he knew she would always listen.)

"I wasn't sure if I would," she whispered, as usual being incredibly honest and trusting. "Everyone's talking…"

"Of course everyone's talking," Draco said, drawing back a little to look at her face. "Everyone always talks about you and Weasley…"

"I know," Hermione whispered, "This isn't going to make things any easier."

"I know," said Draco. They embraced again, this time for ages, both trying to hug their fears away. Draco wanted nothing more than to kiss her and hold her like this for as long as he wanted.

Eventually though, they sat down and talked about it and Hermione was insistent that relationship, at least presently, remain a secret. "Just until things settle down," she said, firmly. She looked at him carefully. "Is that okay?"

Draco could think of nothing less okay. But he smiled and said. "Of course. Good idea."

"I knew you'd understand," she said, and hugged him. Which just seemed to make up for it. A very faraway part of Draco knew that his defenses had been laid to rest too easily; that any of his emotional barriers had been crushed into dust under Hermione's velvety gaze. A far more prominent part of him, however, didn't care. And after they had sat and talked and hugged and kissed until the sluggish clouds above their heads had moved on, to make way for a few strangled beams of sunlight, Draco finally couldn't take not knowing any more. "So….what happened when you talked to Weasley?"

A long pause. "Um," was the eventual answer.

"You don't have to tell me…" Draco said, not meaning a word of it. There was just some things he was dying to know, one of them being how much Wealsey knew about their fledgling relationship. "I just wondered how many curses I'm going to have to avoid from him and Potter in the next few weeks," he added, trying to play it a little cooler.

Far from being amused, Hermione looked quite upset. "Oh…. Um. I don't think you'll need to worry that much. Ron…doesn't know the full extent of it."

Draco blinked once or twice, not fully realising the implications of that. "Oh, I see…" he said, for lack of anything better to say. "But, um…what did you tell him when you broke up with him, then?"

"Oh, no. I couldn't say anything. You see, he broke up with me."

Draco was aghast. 'What?! But- how could he? What possible reason could he have?"

Hermione was silent for a while. Draco yearned to know what she was thinking, what parts of her and Weasley's conversation were replaying in her head, and how much she was hurting. "He had a few reasons," she said eventually, softly. "He knows that I was giving you tutoring but that's about it. I just…couldn't tell him. He was already so hurt and so…so vulnerable…" A long empty sigh. "I deserved everything I got yesterday."

"Surely he didn't get angry?" Draco said incredulously.

"No, he just…made me realise what I've done. The full implications of it. How much I've hurt him, and…oh, I don't know. Everything."

Draco's breath suddenly stuck in his throat. This did not sound good- this was certainly not going to work to his advantage. A girl like Hermione- virtuous and moral and so very honest- wouldn't want to associate with the horrible, upper class, devious Draco Malfoy. Would she now? he was the boy who broke up her relationship with Wealsey- who, selfish and maladjusted as he may be, was genuinely good-hearted, and who, Draco had to remind himself, was her friend for years before they became lovers. Surely Hermione wouldn't just see it as the maltreatment of the feelings of her lover but as the maltreatment of a very dear and most beloved friend? And surely- Draco's heart shuddered at the thought- surely she wouldn't want to associate in any way with someone who would do that to a friend.

Draco waited for Hermione to clarify this. But she didn't. She just sat there with her head leaning against his knee.

"Hermione…" he said eventually, after impatience got the best of him. 'Aren't you going to say anything?"

"About what?" she said, surprised.

"About…well…what I've done. I know that Weasley was your friend first- and he may be now-"

"Oh, no," Hermione said firmly. "He made it quite clear to me yesterday how he feels about us being friends."

"Oh, I see…" Draco said, trying not to feel pleased about it (quite frankly the less contact Weasley had with Hermione, the better, in his opinion). "But that doesn't change what I've done. You must think me horrible."

Hermione slowly looked at him with the utmost pain in her eyes. "But Draco," she started, in a halting voice that betrayed her anxiety, "Draco, don't you see? If I didn't want this to happen between us, I would have made sure it didn't. I would have told McGongagall to shove her favour up…well, someplace not nice. I would have neglected to turn up at every opportunity I had. But I didn't. Don't you see? i wanted this to happen. Even without realizing it, I made this possible. And if you're horrible- well, then I'm ten times more so." She looked straight ahead. "And it's something you can't ask me to forgive myself for."

A long silence. Draco took her hand eventually. "If you can't forgive you," he said softly. "Then I will."


End file.
